HalfLife
by B.E.QUEST
Summary: Murdoc turns forty, and he thinks it's high time to put everything in his head to rest. A .45 caliber, a small cake, and one puff of smoke later, he decides to live a little longer. Story will become Murdoc x 2D. Mature scenes available in another archive
1. Chapter 1: 24 to 40

"Half-Life"

Chapter One- 24 to 40

By B.E.QUEST

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D (eventually)

In twenty-four hours, Murdoc Niccals would be forty. There would, of course, be no cake; for he had lit so many matches and smoked so many cigarettes in his life that candle-blowing was really nothing more than a ritual. An inconvenience. A waste of good matches. This is why, he thought to himself as he ground yet another roach against his overflowing ashtray, his fortieth bothersome year on the planet would be celebrated in the privacy of his rotting Winnebago with a bottle of vodka, a bottle of vermouth, and a jar of olives.

He could be classy when it came to drinking if he chose to. In the next twenty-four hours, Murdoc chose to.

Running his hand through his grungy hair, he couldn't help but notice how dry, tight, and leathery his skin was becoming. Too much drugs, perhaps? No, not that. He hadn't touched speed since O.D.ing in the car park three years ago. He was thirty-seven then. Still young. Still reckless. Still angry, but less so than when he was thirty.

Forty.

He ran his hand through his hair again. It felt like sandpaper and oil.

Forty.

Standing from his chair, Cortez flew to the side as he shuffled through the kitchen, looking for the martini glass he had never touched in his life. He found it, still wrapped in newspaper, at the back of one of his cupboards. Holding it up to the overhanging lamp, he squinted at the different colors it sparkled: green, blue, and purple.

It was a wedding gift. God and Satan only knew where its partner was, and if he had to make any bets, he'd bet on Satan that his ex-wife threw it in an extravagant gesture of fury before moving out of their dilapidated flat. She took with her the only things in life that, had Murdoc had the balls to admit, were important: herself and their two year-old girl.

She left behind the keys.

She left behind the certificate.

She left behind the wedding ring.

To this day, no one knows that Murdoc kept the wedding ring in a security deposit. That was eighteen years ago. He still remembers what it looks like: a single diamond on a gold band. The number of karats is laughable. For some reason, however, his imagination insists it looks like his heart: small, nothing extraordinary, but shiny all the same and good enough to keep. He considers it to be in a coffin now. He never visits. He never weeps. No sense in mourning over what no one wants.

And so, setting the martini glass on the table, filling it with vermouth and then with vodka, he didn't bother to shed tears over losses. Plucking an olive into the glass, he toasted to nothing and drank it down fast.

Cortez crows, and he nods to it. The bird was, after all, his only friend in the world. Sitting on a chair, the bird perches across from him, its head cocked to the side. Patient. Listening.

"It's rather redundant," he swirls around the alcohol in his glass, staring at it with tired eyes. "To drink when you've lived most of your life like you're on fucking novacane."

His bird croons. Bending over, Murdoc rubs the feathers beneath its chin. "Tell you what, if I die of alcohol poisoning come 'morning, everythin' here's yours. You got that?"

Cortez cocks his head to the other side, not quite understanding.

"The Winnebago, mate. And everything in it. You can even have the scythe, but it's too big for you to carry 'round. Makes a nice perch, though."

Lighting another cigarette, Murdoc rubs his ash-covered fingers together. Nervously. Anxiously. His mismatched eyes dart to the caliber sitting by the sink- safety lock released. Then they dart to a clock on the wall.

Twenty-two hours. Forty-three minutes. Fuck the seconds.

Licking his dry lips, he kisses the cigarette- probably the only faithful lover he could depend on through thick or thin. Booze was only the affair he kept to the side. A man needs variety. Fortunately, booze and ciggies got along quite nicely. Both were warm. Both were smooth. One gave him a kiss good morning, nice and slow. The other gave a kiss goodnight, nice and slow.

He lifted his legs, resting his boots against the edge of the table. Across the wagon, Murdoc could see the full-length mirror he fastened on the wall by his bed. If angled his head a certain way, his reflection was in plain sight. It wasn't a pretty one. He knew that. He accepted that.

But it was a bit hard to recognize the limbs attached to his body. Jeans didn't clutch onto his ass or his legs the way they used to. Time was when his arms were more cut than wiry. His chest had lost most of the muscle it had. And his gut, well, that paunch had been waiting for a long time to present itself to the world in all its glory. Happy birthday, indeed.

Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Murdoc sighed. "I'm getting old, Cortez."

Cortez cawed sympathetically. It flew from its side of the table and landed gently on Murdoc's bare shoulder. He stroked Cortez's glossy wing. "I'm getting old."

Morning came, and Murdoc rolled off his bed and onto the dirty floor. He swore at nothing and no one in particular. He was running out of things to get mad at.

"Fuck." He held onto his head with one hand and gripped the floor with the other. Everything was moving several seconds behind schedule. That made sense, Murdoc realized as an empty wine bottle rolled along the carpet and touched the bottom of his foot. He did drank enough martinis to shame good old Sean Connery.

Flailing his hand around, Murdoc found the staff end of his scythe and used it to steady himself. Damn it all, he thought darkly. I drink a bottle of vodka, but my tolerance is so high I can't get myself properly sick anymore.

When the world righted itself, Murdoc ambled into the bathroom, doused his face in cold water, and quickly got dressed. Same pants, same shirt, same Satanist cross as always. Variety was good, but continuity- stability- was better. Sliding on his boots, he grabbed his pack of 666's and a lighter.

His first kiss good morning.

There was no love in it.

Just as he was about to leave the wagon, the caliber sitting by the kitchen sink caught his eye. He had removed it from its drawer early yesterday morning, and sat it out for use. The idea was, at least so far as he had planned, that there would be no better way to celebrate forty years than with fireworks…

…Through his head.

Somehow, the idea got lost after speaking to Cortez. He couldn't shoot himself in front of his friend. There wasn't any elegance in that. In his mind, it was just rude.

He'd do it privately.

Slipping into the kitchen, he turned-on the safety and slipped the gun behind his pants.

Ambling into the Kong Studios kitchen, he raided the refrigerator for milk, the cupboard for cereal, and the counter for coffee. The silvery light washing through the window was a good indication of how early it was. The studio was dead silent.

I am not a morning person. I hate mornings. It's a pisser on the eye. A number on the brain. Fuck morning.

And yet, here he was: in the kitchen, fixing himself cereal at the ungodly hour of dawn. Which was why Murdoc stopped short when he was about to take his normal seat at the table. A chocolate cupcake with an unlit candle was there, waiting for him.

"Happy Birthday."

He jerked, surprised, and turned around. Leaning against the doorway, clearly uncertain of himself, was brainache. The corner of Murdoc's lip twitched. Upwards or downwards, he didn't know. Instead he said, "What's this about?"

Keeping at a safe distance, 2D replied: "You and yesterday."

Of all the people to not forget, it had to be the young man with black holes for eyes and Swiss cheese for brains. Murdoc touched the cupcake slightly, as if it might have been poisoned. Some of the chocolate smeared a wet trail against his finger. Without thinking about it, he licked it off. His eyes widened.

"It's good."

2D smiled from ear to ear, proud of himself. "Russel helped me with it. I know you don't like it too sweet, so I told him and he did something to make it less sweet."

His singer started blushing furiously, as 2D was wont to do when he started babbling and couldn't find the exact words he wanted to express what he meant. 2D bit on his lower lip when he saw Murdoc begin rubbing his temples.

"Right." Murdoc said. "Sit down, D."

At that, 2D frowned. "You're not gonna hit me, are you?"

Murdoc watched nonplussed as 2D's right hand fidgeted beside the pocket of his pants- where he usually kept his switch knife. "I got myself piss drunk last night. If I took a swing at 'ya, I'd give myself vertigo and crack my head open on linoleum flooring. Not my choice of death, so I figure, it's not worth the effort." Sighing, Murdoc pulled the chair next to him away from the table. For whatever reason, if he was going to eat this chocolate confection, he wasn't going to eat it alone. "Sit down, D."

The other obeyed. Strange it was, Murdoc thought. The guy goes out of his way to make him this thing, for the person who literally punched his teeth out- no less, wakes-up early to see him, and yet won't sit down with him. Murdoc figured he may as well give-up trying to make heads or tails of Swiss cheese logic. It was a loss cause, and quite frankly his temper had been so strained in the years he had known 2D that he was actually quite tired of anger. It zapped his energy. It made him want to drink, smoke, and sleep. More so than usual.

I'm getting old, he thought grimly.

"When was the last time I punched you?" He asked evenly as he sipped his coffee. Coffee worked better than aspirin ever would.

Like a little boy, 2D tilted on his chair and looked up to the ceiling for some answers. "Uh… I dunno. You do it a lot so I forget. Um… Not recently, I think. Two or three days ago, maybe. Why?"

He nodded as though the topic were one of no concern. Watching him, 2D saw the wheels and the cranks in Murdoc's head working at an accelerated pace. Too bad it was difficult to see first glance, especially with that poker face. Murdoc drummed his calloused and gnarled fingers against the table. He didn't reply. 2D didn't expect one.

"Here," 2D piped-up, trying to be cheerful. "I'll light the candle, and you make a wish."

Digging through his pockets, 2D pulled out a book of matches. He flinched when Murdoc's arm went towards him, but that was only to lower his hand.

"Don't waste it." Murdoc said.

"It's okay." 2D smiled. "My match."

He struck the match against the book, and a flame hissed as it came ablazed. Carefully lowering the light, 2D lit the candle. It glowed softly in the dim room.

"Make a wish, and blow. Be fast. The wax is melting."

Murdoc stared at that single line of fire. It was supposed to a happy, frivolous thing, but instead Murdoc stiffened in his seat.

He couldn't think of anything to wish for.

He had wished for fame. Granted. He had wished for women. Granted. He had wished for money, booze, and drugs. Granted. Granted. GRANTED. And the fact that he had had it all- everything- and was still so miserable terrified him more than he could say. Murdoc remained still, and without realizing it, his hands moved to grip the sides of his chair. Although he was only sitting in the kitchen, it felt as though he was being suspended in midair and he was on the brink of being dropped.

The flame gazed at him teasingly. He had no answer for it, except…

"…I don't want anything…" Murdoc said hoarsely, not believing his own ears.

"That's silly." 2D laughed. "You gotta want something, Muds. You _always_ want something. What's the point of livin' if there's nothin' to wish for?"

In a movement so quick that 2D completely missed it, Murdoc pinched-out the flame and pulled out the candle stick. 2D looked at his band mate, and saw something there he had never seen before: resignation.

"Muds?"

He wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder, but thought better of it. Just then, Murdoc reached behind his pants and placed the caliber on the kitchen table. It made a heavy, deathly clunk against the wooden surface. 2D looked between the gun and Murdoc. "What's that for?"

Murdoc starred back at him, deadpan: "When I hit you in the future, shoot me."

"I- I can't do that-"

"Yes, you can." Murdoc replied smoothly, pushing the gun in 2D's direction. "If I hit you, or hurt you in any other way, put a bullet through my head."

"You know my aim is shit." 2D tried to joke. It didn't work.

"Then shoot me as many times as it takes. I don't mind."

Picking up the gun and checking the barrel- yes, it was fully loaded- 2D shook his head. "

Whatcha got to do this for? Besides, I won't kill you. You're my best mate."

A curl of frustration mixed with hatred and exhaustion wrapped around the inside of Murdoc's belly. For the sake of communicating his argument, he ignored it. "I am not your 'mate.' 'Mates' don't hit one another, run over 'em, send 'em to a coma, run over 'em _again_, or fuck their girlfriends up the wall."

"You never left me, though." 2D said quietly. "I think that makes us friends enough." He turned over the gun and set it down on the table.

For a moment, Murdoc stared 2D down. His gaze was so harsh, so uncomfortable, that it wasn't long before 2D had to look away. It was with that did Murdoc spot a loophole.

"Then as a mate, D, shoot me when I hurt you."

2D looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Perhaps he had.

"As a favor." Murdoc elaborated. "You promise?"

"Muds, you know I can't make promises to stuff I don't know I'll keep or not." The wheels and cranks in his band mate's head were turning again. 2D could always sense it, and this time it wasn't boding well. Murdoc's eyes were caressing the gun with their gaze. He moved slightly, causing 2D to nab the gun, pocket it, and reply quickly: "But… I'll hold onto it anyway. Is that okay?"

Catching himself, Murdoc nodded. "Yeah. That'll do."

"Okay." 2D swallowed and gestured toward the cupcake. "Better eat it."

He was about to leave, when Murdoc caught his wrist. It surprised 2D, not because he didn't expect it, but because it was, indeed, the gentlest that Murdoc had ever touched him.

"Don't leave." Murdoc said, barely above a whisper. "Half it with me."

2D chuckled. "It's just for you, Murdoc. It's too small, anyway."

Not listening to him, the bassist pulled open the drawer with all the cutlery. He found a buttering knife and figured that would have to do. Carefully, he held onto the base of the cupcake while slicing it in two.

"It's mine." Murdoc agreed, and said more quietly. "But it's not too small. It's good enough."


	2. Chapter 2: The Caliber

Chapter Two- The Caliber

By: B.E.QUEST

Note: Story also archived at the gorillazslash livejournal community.

2D sat in his room, on his bed, holding the gun. He still had the taste of chocolate and cigarettes in his mouth. After sharing the desert, he and Murdoc went onto the balcony for a smoke. Murdoc seemed troubled then, but 2D made no comment as they took in the sight of landfill beneath them. They had parted about an hour later, not a word exchanged.

Turning the caliber over, he distantly wondered whether or not the nozzle of the gun had ever touched the temple of Murdoc's head or the inside of Murdoc's dry lips. The thought made him shiver.

For all the intelligence that Murdoc had and he lacked, 2D had a very strong understanding of death. Once upon a time, when his smile had all its teeth in place and his eyes were not black but bright blue, 2D had an older brother. His name was Kenneth Fredric Charlie. Three names for every brother that was born before him and died in labor. K.F.C. for short. He was the lucky one. 2D, or Stuart, was the second. There were no more sons to be had after them.

When K.F.C. died in a ferris wheel accident at his father's carnival, Stuart was a little more than eighteen. Kenneth's body, mangled as it was after having fallen into the ferris wheel's engine, was cremated. As a poor family, they could neither afford a proper ceremony nor an urn respectable enough to put their first son and first brother in. Instead, they stored Kenneth's ashes in Stuart's favorite jar of butterscotch toffee. When Kenneth and Stuart were little, they used to eat butterscotch religiously before and after dinner. Stuart told his parents he couldn't think of a happier place for his brother to rest in.

And so it was.

He had his brother's initials carved into his skin. It was a comfort of sorts- as if his brother were right there beside him, laying a strong hand on his shoulder. The three letters reminded him about pain and love and family, and the inseparability of all three. Naturally, people have asked about it and always jumped to the conclusion that 2D was in infatuated with Kentucky Fried Chicken. That conclusion, of course, came about with the help of Murdoc poking fun at his tattoo. He did not get angry or upset. Murdoc did not know what those letters stood for, and with that in mind he laughed it off and said: "I love K.F.C.!"

It was not a lie.

People did not give him enough credit. In many ways, that played to his advantage. It kept the reporters away. It kept his life _his_.

He held onto the gun so tightly that the metal was warm to the touch. In his mind, 2D reviewed his options. First, he could bring up the situation with Russell, the only adult with any common sense and a level-headed attitude available. Second, he could request, through Jamie and Damon, that Murdoc be sent back for psychiatric treatment. Third, he could keep the gun but unload it.

Telling Russell was suicide. Knowing the drummer, Russell would do one of two things: confront Murdoc or tell Noodle, and _then_ confront Murdoc. The results of either action, 2D knew, would land him with one more dent in the head or worse. Bringing the issue to a psychiatrist would have equally damaging results. If there was anything 2D knew about Murdoc, he hated psychiatrists as much as he loved holding grudges. That left, of course, the third option. 2D stood up, went to the trash bin, and began dumping the bullets one by one.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk.

Clunk…

…CLUNK.

And, because he wasn't a complete dullard, he swore to himself that he would never remove the safety. If push came to shove, he'd nail Murdoc on the head with the gun, and hope the bassist wouldn't remember what transpired when he came to. After all, he never promised to fire the thing. He'd only hold onto it.

"Yo, D, you know what's been up with Muds?"

2D turned around and had to slip the headphones he was wearing off one of his ears. They were in the recording booth, mixing some tracks. "Huh?"

"Muds," Russell said again. "The sonovabitch's been quiet for the past few days

and he hasn't peeped or cussed at _all_ today. It's makin' me nervous, man."

Around two in the afternoon, the band congregated to make a new song. They worked on the notes and lyrics for hours on end. All too frequently, they would come into disagreement with one another over certain suggestions. However, amazingly enough, Murdoc wasn't a part of the fray. Instead, he kept to himself and worked on his own baselines until it suited the song just fine. As soon as the recording was done, Murdoc left. He didn't even bother to bring his bass guitar with him, and that caught everyone's attention.

"You're right. He doesn't say much." 2D finally replied.

"He's skinny as fuck too. You see him in the Dirty Harry video? The man is a green stick. Like Gumby, but with a nastier disposition.'"

2D shrugged. "Maybe he's cutting down?"

Russell snorted. "On what? Cheerios? Aside from anything instant, that's all Muds eats."

The problem with Russell, 2D realized, was that he was too keen at sensing when something was wrong. Having been possessed with Del might have helped his sense of empathy, but the continuous practice of sensing when 2D was quietly nursing Murdoc's

blows had augmented Russell's talents.

"Maybe you can ask him what's goin' on?" 2D offered, however unhelpfully.

"Yeah, right." Russell started turning off the machines. "He'll hole himself up in the Winnebago unless I huff and I puff and I blow that motherfucking wagon down."

2D actually laughed. "I'd like to see that."

"Yeah, man. Me too."

They both grinned at one another, feeling more at ease.

That was, until they entered the lobby where Noodle was playing video games. She didn't look at them since she was focusing on the television screen, but she said: "Murdoc-san left."

"Where'd he go?" 2D asked, sitting beside her on the couch.

"No where. He said he is just going for a walk." Lowering her controller, Noodle continued gravely, "He seemed like he wanted to be alone, but I do not think that is what he needs."

2D looked out one of the building windows. "He was a bit off when I gave him his cake this morning…" He mumbled cautiously.

"Ah. That's it. Mid-life crisis blues." Russell said at last, with a bit of a smirk. He crossed his heavy arms over his broad chest and nodded to himself. 2D looked at him curiously.

"What's that?"

"Oh, its this thing people go through when they're beginning to realize they're not as young as they used to be." Russell answered 2D.

"Murdoc's not old." 2D said, confused by the very idea that the Satanist was capable of aging. "And, like, he's still good with the women and all. Why would he feel old?"

Russel shook his head. "That's what I mean, man. It's all in his head. Bet ya' once he gets himself shacked-up in the Winne, he'd be good as new. Or bad as new. Ah, forget it."

2D vaguely wondered if Russell would be saying the same thing had he known about the incident earlier this morning. He kept it to himself.

The sixth month of the year was consistently a hot one. Murdoc figured that was probably why six was the devil's number. The sun always burned angrily, a bitter glare of light that everyone felt on his or her back. It was the kind of thing one felt when someone held a particularly nasty grudge against him. Murdoc thought that it could be very well possible that the world had one hell of a grudge over his birth.

He was walking over a bridge in a park. Stopping at the middle of it, he leaned against the railing and saw a shadow of his reflection in the cool pool of water beneath. A cigarette rolled in between his fingers. It was a habit of his that he acquired during therapy.

"_What happened before you ram-raided the emporium, Murdoc?" _

"_I received a letter. From my ex-wife."_

"_I understand you haven't spoken to her in more or less a decade?"_

"_That's about right. Yes."_

"_What was in the letter?_

"_An invitation."_

"_To what?"_

"_Her funeral."_

You weren't allowed to smoke in those damned offices, but he was given the small mercy of at least holding a fag between his fingers. No wonder his fingernails were constantly black. It was grime he collected over the years: rotting memories that turned into dust and had nowhere else to go, but his fingers. He kept them. Licked them. Held them close. Someone had to love them. Murdoc flicked some ash into the lake. It melted into his shadow.

"Ashes to ashes." Murdoc murmured vacantly. "Dust to dust."

He closed his eyes, and swore he heard a rhythm- a beat- in his head. The hand he kept on the rail started bouncing up and down in a slow manner. It was, for him, an internalized metronome he had discovered at the ripe age of ten. Once Murdoc discovered this hidden talent of measuring sounds without the aid of a watch or a swinging pendulum, he knew that noise, beats, chaos, and order would bend to his very will.

It was a very powerful gift. Murdoc held onto it like a lifeline.

Murdoc flicked more ash into his shadow. Or maybe he was one delusional kid with no sense of reality. 'Powers,' what utter bullshit. He didn't know. He didn't want to think on it. Unfortunately, he couldn't. Murdoc had to channel it. That too, was a gift. Contrary to popular belief, Murdoc was not one to deny the strength of meditation. Method, on the other hand, was something he found arguable. I'm not a yoga-shitting pansy. Not my style. Not my thing. Not my dig. You give me a five-string and an amp, and I'll show you how the fuck I meditate.

Yet, at this very moment he wanted to destroy his bass. Smash it against the wall, let the strings pop and the sparks fly… It would be beautiful. He wouldn't do that, of course. He had promised to give it to Cortez. As a man, he had very few morals with which he lived by. Keeping his word was one of the few he didn't toss out. That might explain why he didn't make many promises if he could get away with it. After his wife left, he wasn't so sure he had it in him to drive down to Stoke and cram more pieces of himself into the safety deposit.

But 2D would keep his promise, wouldn't he? Murdoc thought desperately. He cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for what he had to do tonight. 2D. I can depend on 2D. He does whatever the hell I say. My bitch. My singer. My front man. My boy. Mine. He won't let me down. Never has. Never will. If he does, I'll hit him until he'll want to kill me.

He dropped his cigarette butt over the bridge. It was time to go home, touch his singer for the last time (and in the only way he knew how), and sleep.

2D sat in front of his door in the car park, waiting for Murdoc to enter his Winnebago. He had been in the cold garage for the past three hours. But unlike many of his band mates, he excelled at endurance. It was a skill he learned through living with Murdoc, his mental disabilities, and the relationship between the two.

"Love forever, love is free…" He hummed to himself while fiddling with his switch knife. 2D smirked a bit when he remembered something Murdoc murmured through clenched teeth when 2D wrote down the lyric: Love for-never, nothing's free. The smirk on his face faded away. Now that he thought about it, there wasn't anything particularly funny about what Murdoc said.

It was, quite simply, just sad.

He heard the clicking of cowboy boots against the pavement, and 2D stood-up, squinting to see Murdoc's thin figure in the distance. Murdoc had his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on _him_. The way Murdoc moved, leisurely but with purpose in mind, made 2D uneasy.

He knows what he's doing.

All I have to do is sock him in the face good an' hard. He'll pull out the caliber, shaky hands and all, and shoot me three times. Since his aim is fucking shit, he'll miss my head. That's fine. Told him that was okay. He'll fire three times. One. Two. Three. A shot to my hip, cuz he aims too low. A shot to my shoulder cuz he'd figure that out. A shot to my chest. That one will do it. That one will do it. All I have to do is sock him in the face good n' hard.

When Murdoc came no less than a foot away from him, 2D saw that there was no smug grin on his face. Rather, that sallow mug was no better than the zombies that they fought off two weeks ago. His eyes saw nothing. His lips formed a straight line. The normal spark of mayhem and madness was burned out.

Murdoc kept his arms to their sides. Looking into 2D's eyes, he felt a little less afraid. There was a certain comfort in gazing into nothingness. For in life there is but one guarantee: oblivion. He liked the sound of that. It was charming.

Lifting his right hand, Murdoc balled it into a fist. It didn't escape his notice that 2D eyed his fist warily, but made no move to be on the offensive first. The same as always. 2D never strikes first. It was a continuity. A stability. These things he would find, without a doubt, in 2D. Like his eyes, it made Murdoc less afraid.

His fist was shaking. It felt terribly weak. It burned and was numb down to the fingertips. Murdoc couldn't move his arm the way he wanted to. It refused to obey him. A wave of nausea hit like mace full force: Murdoc found that he couldn't hit 2D, and for the life of him he didn't know why.

So he did the next best thing: Murdoc pushed 2D, making him fall, and kicked him on the ground. 2D blinked from his place on the cold cement. It didn't hurt. There was no force in it. Moreover, Murdoc kicked him on the back, not the gut. Murdoc waited for him to retaliate. Instead, 2D flipped over and stood up as if nothing happened. Furious, Murdoc threw a fist against 2D's chest. Again, 2D blinked.

Not in the face?

Murdoc was just as confused. He didn't even leave a faint bruise. When no reaction came, Murdoc punched him again. Nothing. 2D barely moved, much less topple over as he usually did when Murdoc delivered killing blows. After several more half-hearted punches on the chest, on the shoulders, and along 2D's collarbone, Murdoc seethed and shoved 2D against the wall.

"Stop making me hurt you!" He roared, his voice echoing in the cavern of the car park.

"You're not hurting me, Murdoc." 2D said plainly, rubbing the side of his arm that hit the brick wall.

"Yes, I am!" Murdoc protested, his whole frame shaking with his voice. "I hurt you. It's what I do. It's what I'm doing now. Now where the fuck is the gun?"

Reaching behind his pants, 2D withdrew the caliber. Murdoc's trembling shoulders stopped. They slacked, and Murdoc was able to step back, release a breath, and compose himself. "Well? You idiot, 'member what I asked you to do?"

"Yeah."

"So do it, brainache!"

He looked at Murdoc, and it felt as though he was seeing the man for the very first time. He's tired. He's frustrated. He's desperate. He's weak. He's unhappy. He's ugly. He's cruel. He's selfish. He's scared. He's lonely. This was the face of the man who was forced to nurse 2D back to health, who brought the Gorillaz together and made them who they were, and who unwittingly created 2D's new family. They were, at the very least, brothers. As his brain soaked all this in like a sponge, the gun rattled within his grip. He meant to say 'I won't.' But what instead came out of his lips was: "I can't."

Murdoc's red eye sparked. "What do you mean-"

"There aren't any bullets in the gun, Muds." 2D said, thinking quickly for an excuse. "I can't shoot you without the bullets."

A storm took over Murdoc's face. Now this was the bassist 2D knew. Somehow, however perverse it might have been, seeing that face made 2D relax. In an eye blink, Murdoc was on him, pushing him against the wall and clutching the collar of his t-shirt with balled-up fists. The caliber dropped from his hands and landed on the floor beside his feet. 2D almost choked on air and Murdoc's breath. It smelt of alcohol, cigarettes, and something sour like spoilt milk.

"You pussy-licking, fucker! You emptied it, didn't you?"

"You- you didn't say I could or could- couldn't." His voice came out quivering and frightened, but he tried reasoning with Murdoc anyway. "And I still got the gun, see? Just like you said."

"Why are you so damn nice to me? I don't understand it!" Murdoc sneered, his grip tightening. "No matter what I do, no matter what I say, you take it! What do I have to do, you bastard, what do I have to do to get you to kill me!"

He was breathing heavily, and they were so close to one another that Murdoc's greasy hair was clinging to 2D's chin. His hair smelt of sweat and piss. Nevertheless, the singer did not flinch in repulsion. When you're friends with someone, he knew, you don't think they're hideous regardless of the truth.

For better or worse, 2D did the brave thing- the _stupid_ thing: He wrapped one arm around Murdoc's neck and pulled him close, practically beckoning Murdoc to sock him in the teeth once more. But Murdoc did no such thing, instead his nose twitched at the scent he found with his face buried against 2D's vulnerable neck. He radiated a scent of everything sweet and bitter. Chocolate. Cigarettes. Coffee. Butterscotch. They were the small, pleasant things in life that slowed the heart down and made everything okay. In an instant, Murdoc felt his pulse calm and his head readjust. Suddenly, the world was clearer than he remembered it. It almost made Murdoc want to flat-out bawl.

Almost.

"This isn't what I wanted." Murdoc murmured as he lowered his band mate onto the ground. He didn't move away when 2D wrapped both arms around him.

And _that_ was what made 2D say it: "I thought you didn't want anything?"

He was met with a pregnant moment of silence after that. On his back, 2D felt Murdoc nails dig into his shoulder blades. He didn't think he meant to do so in anger. It was then, out of nowhere, did Murdoc start laughing. It was a dry, humorless laugh- one that hid dead tears with every hiccup. "I'm must be barmy." Murdoc chuckled. "Look at me, acting like a pathetic little faggot." He nervously backed away and threw off 2D's embrace. "This isn't me. I don't do breakdowns or pep talks."

"I won't tell anyone." 2D said.

"You better not."

Now that they were apart, they felt even more awkward than before. 2D fidgeted, but he didn't want to leave until Murdoc left first. From the look of it, neither of them was going anywhere anytime soon. His band mate still looked restless.

Well, in the world of music, there was only one cure for that. 2D smiled. "Come on, I got some pot in my room. You want some?"

Like a rabbit, Murdoc's ears seemed to perk-up. "That- that sounds good. Yeah."

"Okay. Let's go then, mate." He started to head for the door to his room, when he noticed the caliber lying on the floor. With aplomb, 2D bent to pick-up the firearm. "I'll shoot you down when you _really_ get me. " He said playfully, sliding the gun into the back of his pants. "So do your worst, Muds. I can take ya. 'Till then you're stuck here."


	3. Chapter 3: Good Morning and Good Night

Chapter Three- "Good Morning and Good Night"

By: B.E.QUEST

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Rating: PG-13 - NC-17

There is something to be said about a good night's sleep. For Murdoc, who slept roughly three-fourths of the day through and still looked like he had a bad case of insomnia, this was the first time in two decades he could admit to feeling well rested. With his eyes still comfortably shut, he found himself cocooned in warmth, snuggled against softness, and spooned over a welcoming body. Breathing out deeply, Murdoc could feel the hairs on someone's neck flutter and tickle the tip of his nose. Instinctively, his arm snaked around the belly of the thin figure next to him and he buried his face deeper against his bedmate's hair. Warm fingers intertwined with his. He couldn't resist gently squeezing them and rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. He yawned.

He felt young and happy and pleasantly full.

Which caused Murdoc to sit upright so fast he took the blanket with him. The room he was in wasn't familiar. It was pitch dark save for the glowing lights of electrical outlets and music equipment. Where the hell am I? This isn't my flat… Where's the big window? Where're the drapes?

His mind had to untangle itself. He was twenty years old, wasn't he? He lives in a humble flat at Stoke. He's newly married. His wife's name is Claire. He works daily shifts at the corner autoshop. He's a mechanic. He plans to buy a new car for his thirty-first birthday, have two kids- maybe three- and form a band to support them.

Running a hand over his face and through his hair, Murdoc realized that the texture of his hand did not belong to someone who was twenty.

I'm forty years old. I live in a Winnebago in the car park of Kong Studios. I'm alone. I'm the founder of the Gorillaz. I'm a bassist. My daughter lives with her stepfather. I stole a car from the autoshop and drove it through Uncle Norm's Emporium. It was my thirty-first birthday. I almost killed Stuart Tusspot. I planned to have fireworks in my head.

While his eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room, Murdoc turned to the body lying next to him.

"Fuck."

Fortunately, or he'd never live it down, Murdoc discovered that both he and 2D still had their clothes on. Lifting his shirt to his nose, he detected the faint aroma of smoke and marijuana. He frantically tried to remember what had conspired last night. What happened when they were smoking?

He'd think on it later. Slipping out of the warm bed, Murdoc tried to feel his way out of the room. In his stupor, he succeeded in nearly knocking down several items that were hung on the wall, restraining a stream of swear words as he stepped on several empty bottles of medication, and stubbing his toe against 2D's chair. By the time he was close to the door, Murdoc managed to hit a key on a synthesizer. It wasn't off.

The whole room echoed a very loud A-note.

Biting his lip, he turned around to look at his singer. There would be hell to pay if 2D woke-up not recalling having fallen asleep with him. Murdoc sighed. The most 2D did was mumble and turn over. He shook his head. "Little bastard can sleep through an explosion."

Opening the door, he ran the rest of the way back to his wagon. He needed a cold shower to get rid of an embarrassingly enormous morning erection.

When 2D rolled over to Murdoc's empty bedside, his whole body sprung-up like a clown out of a jack-in-the-box. Dazed and groggy from sleep and certain chemicals still filtering through his system, 2D looked around for the person he _swore_ dozed off against his shoulder. Knowing Murdoc's nature, he wasn't at all surprised to discover that the bassist had snuck out.

Sighing, 2D stood to get dressed. As he dealt with the pain of looking for a clean pair of pants, the back of his mind replayed three distinct things that had happened last night. Thanks to the weed, those events were forever scrambled out of order in his memory.

There was kissing. Soft kissing. Slow and scared. Somehow they wound up entangled with one another on the floor. Murdoc touched his lips with his thumb, and stared at him. Their nose tips brushed against one another. 2D had his arm wrapped around the small of Murdoc's back. He held him close.

'_I fuckin' swear, D…'_

'_You swear what?'_

'_I swear you're gonna be the luckiest sonovabitch on earth.' He pressed his mouth against 2D's neck and nipped there. 'You're gonna have lots of good sex and lots of kids, and you're gonna take care of 'em all.' His other hand roamed up and down 2D's chest, his rough fingers grazing against a pert nipple. 2D jerked at the touch, and started breathing hard. He gazed upon Murdoc with haze on the eyes and a flush on the cheeks. 'You're gonna be fucking rich and make your own goddamn album.' He leaned over 2D's velvety mouth and carefully slipped his tongue in. It was warm and moist. It stroked his own tongue, quietly asking 2D to touch him back. He did, and Murdoc sighed against him. When Murdoc pulled away, he whispered: 'It'll be a hit. The best thing you ever made. I promise.'_

_It was a silly promise, one that could only have been born out of smoking too much pot. 2D kissed Murdoc on the forehead for it._

Rummaging around for a shirt, he remembered that they were laughing a lot. But before that –or was it after?- they had a somber conversation that was kept on low volume. Murdoc was sitting on the floor with his back against a corner.

'_Why'd you want to throw your life away, anyway?' 2D asked, lying on his stomach and across from Murdoc._

_Murdoc took a long drag and blew O's into the air. 'People do it all the time.'_

'_Yeah, but I don't think there's a good enough reason to do it.'_

'_It's none of your business, dullard. If I wanna blow my head off, I'll blow it off.'_

'_Then why don't you do it? Why'd you ask me?'_

_His band mate laughed nervously and chewed on his lip. Murdoc's eyes were watering, but he blamed it on the smoke. 'Don't know… don't know. Guess I- guess I'm too much of a scared twit to do it myself.'_

'_I think if you're scared it means that you have some reasons to not die. You know? With me, like, I don't wanna die 'cuz I like Noodle. I also like Russell, and I like you too. You know?'_

That fragment of memory cut off with Murdoc looking at him… with a bit of a sad smile. He slipped his shirt on, and took a glance at the mirror. The last thing he could recall, and it was something he remembered most clearly, was when he had decided it was time for bed.

"_It's getting late, and you're stoned on your ass."_

_2D got up from the floor. He tried to make a beeline for bed, but instead embarrassed himself by stumbling over his own feet. Murdoc fell over and laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach._

"_Ha. Ha. Yeah, I know I'm funny." 2D grabbed a pillow that was within reach and threw it at Murdoc's face. He swore to God it looked like Murdoc would snap his jaw off if he laughed any harder._

_For a pillow, it did it a pretty good job knocking Murdoc down. "What the bloody hell was that for, mate?"_

_Holding onto the corner of the pillowcase, Murdoc jumped up and ran towards the singer with vengeance on the mind. 2D grabbed another pillow and hopped on his bed. Murdoc followed him up and slammed the pillow against his face. SEVEN TIMES. When he finally pulled the pillow away, 2D found himself spitting out goose feathers. _

"_So not cool, man." He took a swing at Murdoc, who ducked out of the way. The pillow wound up knocking over a lamp sitting on 2D's nightstand. With 2D distracted, Murdoc dropped his pillow and tackled 2D by the stomach. Together, they gracelessly landed on the floor, next to the fallen lamp. _

_They didn't land in a very comfortable position._

"_That's gonna hurt tomorrow." 2D grunted, heaving his upper torso up with his elbows. When he looked up, Murdoc was a fraction of a centimeter away from his face. For a moment, 2D was hypnotized by his mismatched eyes. However, his basic instincts of self-preservation caught the wicked grin crawling across Murdoc's lips._

_Murdoc pinned him down, lifted up his shirt..._

"_Murdoc!"_

_And started tickling him without mercy. 2D yowled like a dying cat._

"_Why, Mr. Tusspot," said Murdoc silkily. "I didn't know you were ticklish."_

"_Hahahahahahahaha- N-No!" 2D screamed, his face turning bright red as his stomach doubled-up on itself. "Not there!"_

_Chuckling, Murdoc lowered his fingertips down to 2D's ribcage. "You mean here?"_

_He started strumming 2D gently, but quickly like a guitar. 2D rolled from side to side with tears welling at the corner of his eyes._

"_I- I can't breathe! Hahahahahahaha!"_

"_Or did you mean here." He lifted his dancing fingers toward 2D's neck, right beneath his chin. Little did he know that that was a definite weak spot for the singer. The tickling got to 2D so badly that he accidentally kneed Murdoc in the groin at full force. _

"_Argh!" Murdoc collapsed over him like a sack of potatoes and curled up in a fetal position. Mortified, 2D tried to sit up._

"_Oh, god! Did I hit you?" _

"_You hit them BOTH, bitch." _

_2D winced. "S-sorry."_

_They remained immobile on the floor, with him on his back and Murdoc splayed over him. Turning his head, he found that Murdoc was looking at him very intently. 2D gazed back at him. They didn't say anything. Not for a very long time. Murdoc bent his head down, while 2D bent his head up. Their lips met somewhere in the middle._

Sighing, 2D tried to zip on the jeans he found in one of his drawers. When he looked down at his pants, he was met with a surprise. There was an erection there. A big one at that. It was time, he knew, to make use of the showers.

Eggs crackled and sizzled over a frying pan. Russell stood over them in the kitchen, while Noodle helped herself to a cup of green tea and a plate of rice balls. Murdoc casually strolled in and headed straight for the coffee maker. The man, the drummer knew, operated on fossil fuel not food.

"Top of the morning to ye, tubby." He said as he breezed by Russell.

Russell sighed. "Well, someone's recovered."

Barely hearing Russell's retort, Murdoc lowered his mug. "What's that?"

"Nothin,' Muds." He clapped a big hand on his shoulder. "Find yourself a nice 'bird' last night?"

"Don't touch me."

The drummer lowered his hand. "Right."

Murdoc decided not to answer the question, to which Russell did not object. Grabbing a newspaper, he kicked-up his feet and sat down at the table. He wouldn't actually read the articles, of course. Newspapers were merely a good means of keeping his face out of view, and the last thing he needed was for his band mates to peek at his face and wonder what was going on with him. As it was, Murdoc still couldn't put together how he wound-up sleeping in 2D's bed. And since he was very high at the time, he also couldn't put together how he didn't wind up shagging something- anything or _anyone_.

Thank Satan for his foresight. He lifted his newspaper higher when he felt blood run to his cheeks. He didn't fuck 2D, did he? No. No, he didn't. No matter how wasted he'd get, he would remember screwing a bloke because he'd never done it before. There's no way an experience like that wouldn't burn a scar onto his brain.

"Good morning!" 2D said cheerfully as he sauntered into the kitchen.

They didn't do it. Definitely not, Murdoc confirmed. One does not saunter after anal sex. He knew his anatomy. It just wasn't in the cards. He looked at 2D from behind. The caliber was once again sticking out of the back his pants. If Murdoc hadn't known the implications behind the caliber, he would have laughed out loud. I am no Shakespeare, but I know a phallic symbol when I see one.

"Morning, D." Russell did a double-take. "'Ey, man. What's with the firearm? Murdoc been beating on you again?"

2D and Murdoc glanced at one another, while Russell threw the bassist a threatening look.

"Nope." 2D replied.

Russell flipped another egg. One of his eyebrows went up his forehead. It was a telltale sign that he didn't completely believe in what he was hearing. "No, huh? So why're you toting it around?"

"Sod off, Russ." Murdoc barked. "None of your business."

"It's okay, Muds. We can tell him."

He was met with two concurrent replies: "WHAT?"

Both Murdoc and Russell stared at him with wide-eyes. Noodle watched everything while calmly sipping from her teacup. Mornings, she believed, are the most interesting part of the day.

Innocently, 2D scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. It's no problem. Russ, Murdoc was gonna take me to the shooting range today. I suck at firing this thing, and with zombies around-"

His brain now operating on a higher level of thinking, Murdoc jumped in to help: "Yeah, numbnuts. It's getting pretty damn boring watching out for your ass-"

In horror, he lifted his newspaper again when he felt another rush of blood hit his face. Murdoc didn't realize he could be the least bit prone to blushing. Dammit, what did we _do_ last night? He asked himself again and again.

"-Muds and I thought I better learn how to aim." 2D finished.

Glancing back at Murdoc, who was by now buried under the comics section, Russell was still skeptical. "Didn't know you could be generous." Russell said to him. "You sure you're not just gonna use 2D for bullet practice?"

"Thanks for the suggestion!" Murdoc exclaimed, tossing the wrinkled paper to the side. "Dually noted!"

The comics landed at Noodle's feet. She picked them up, carefully refolded the section, and set it down on the table as the three men in the room continued to clamor over this and that and a box of corn flakes. With much dignity, Noodle stood-up from her chair, shaking her head as she left the kitchen.

"Men are very poor at lying." She murmured to no one.

"I didn't know you could lie."

Murdoc closed the door behind them and grabbed two pairs of earmuffs and goggles, both of which were hung on the wall. He handed one of each to 2D, who immediately put them on.

"That's because I never had to do it for you before." 2D replied. He pulled out the caliber and started reloading it with the bullets he stuffed into his pocket.

"Point taken. I must be losing my touch."

"Comes with age."

He snorted. "Don't push your luck with me."

Leading the way, they chose stall six for sentimental reasons- or so Murdoc claimed. While 2D made sure the gun was in working order, the bassist entered the booth with a large roll of paper under his arm. Unrolling it revealed a marker of the human body. After clipping up the marker, he exited the booth and stood behind 2D.

"Okay. First, you want two hands on the gun. Not one. This isn't the movies. You need the support for the recoil that comes after firing." His arms came up and around the singer's, showing 2D where to place his hands and how to hold his arms. "Second, keep your elbows slightly bent. If your arms are too straight, you're gonna tear a fucking muscle and wish you were shot instead." Murdoc gently pulled 2D's arms in, and 2D swallowed. This felt… "Third, keep both eyes on your mark. This isn't a damn rifle and we're not huntin' deer."

2D obeyed, opening the eye he had shut automatically.

"Good." To his dismay, Murdoc slowly let go and backed away. "Now fire."

BANG!

The bullet ripped through the mark, making a hole in the target's midsection. Murdoc nodded. "That's how it's done."

Walking over to the control panel, Murdoc flicked a switch under stall six. The cables holding the marker whirred and moved the marker back a meter. "Now try shooting at a longer distance. See if you can get the same place twice."

Smiling like a fool, 2D nodded. This was fun!

Murdoc sat in a chair, watching as 2D pulled the trigger again and again. At the control panel, he moved the marker backwards and forwards, frequently ordering 2D to try aiming at other body parts aside from the stomach. When roughly two hours past, 2D successfully shot his marker's throat. Murdoc squirmed at the thought that that target could have been him. When 2D's shoulder started getting sore, the bassist went back into the booth and unclipped the marker. He took it to a table and laid it out for 2D to look at.

"This one here." He pointed to the bullet hole at the throat. "That one's the jugular. You punched a motherfucking hole in the jugular."

"I was aiming for the head." 2D said disappointedly.

"You, dullard. Do you even _know_ what the jugular is?"

He took the blank look on 2D's face as a 'no.' Murdoc sighed and pinched his nose bridge- or what was left of it after Russell busted it in. "Have you seen a Kurosawa movie? You know, like, 'Ran' and shit?"

2D had the grace to blush and shake his head.

"All right. Next best thing. Tarantino?"

"Oh, oh! Like 'Reservoir Dogs,' 'Jackie Brown,' 'Pulp Fiction,' and 'Kill Bill?"

"Kill Bill! That's the one. Remember when O-ren Ishii took that guy's head out?"

"Yeah. There was um… a lot of blood. Like a fountain." 2D giggled. He was so proud of himself. "It kept on squirting too!"

"Yeah… You basically did that with a bullet." Answering the unsaid: 'How,' Murdoc continued patiently with: "The jugular has all the veins in the body bundled up in it. Punching that thing with a bullet is like setting off a geyser. Almost the same effect as chopping a head off, only you'll actually feel the pain."

Picking up the marker, 2D held it up and scrutinized the damage he'd done. Knowing all this suddenly made him feel powerful. "You're really smart, Murdoc! Where'd you learn to shoot?"

His mate grunted and leaned against the table. "In a bathroom with some lube and a porn-"

"No, I mean-"

"I know what you mean, brainache. It's called sarcasm." When 2D said nothing to that, and when Murdoc continued feel that curious stare on his back, he came clean. "My dad. I learned from my dad."

2D hopped on the table, sitting next to him. "You don't talk much about him."

"Not exactly the role model worth discussing."

Of all the topics the dullard had to bring up inadvertently, it had to be this. Murdoc pressed his lips together, but didn't say anything. Somehow, he got lost into thinking about a certain friend he had when he was small. He had four long legs, a beautiful black coat, an inescapable lick, and loyalty beyond all reason. On days he'd walk home from school, with bruises on his shins and scuffs on his shoes, that dog would accompany him home and protect him from the bullies Murdoc had in primary school. He'd sit beside Murdoc when he was doing homework in front of the fireplace. He'd follow Murdoc up and down the stairs. He sat underneath the dinner table, eating the scraps Murdoc thought were too gross to chew on. At night, the dog would curl-up at the end of his bed and listen to little Murdoc cry quietly and ask: why am I so ugly? Why doesn't anyone to talk to me? Why do people hate me so much? I'm not a bad person… I'm _not_… And then the dog would inch up the bed and lay his warm head on Murdoc's lap. He would lick the tears until nothing was left in little Murdoc but shallow hiccups. After that, everything was okay.

Murdoc turned his head to look at 2D. It was a very strange thing. 2D sat there, patiently waiting…. Like the good friend he once had when he was young enough to believe in hope. "I had a dog when I was eight." Murdoc said suddenly. "Name was Midnight. A Doberman. Gorgeous dog, the Doberman." He held onto the edge of the table, not quite sure if this was something he could share. "Dad told me to shoot him down when he found out Midnight got to his accounting books. That's how I learned."

2D's face, which was once so bright and content, twisted in shock. "Sorry." He whispered, ashamed of himself. "Shouldn't've asked."

"Huh.' Yeah, well… You did." He paused. "…Don't know why I'm answering.""

Murdoc fidgeted, wondering if he made a grave mistake in telling 2D something he had never told anyone, not even Claire. He remembered that day. He had just started secondary education. Twelve, thirteen- he couldn't remember. After another isolated day at school, Murdoc came home and found Midnight tied to a tree in the yard. 'Shoot him.' his father said. Murdoc protested and screamed. In the end, night fell and he had a revolver in his trembling hand. Midnight looked at him, understanding. 'It's all right.' Midnight seemed to say to him. 'I love you just the same.' A gunshot. Midnight whimpered. He dropped the gun and fell to his knees, clutching the bleeding dog in his arms. It panted, it teared-up, it groaned. All the while Murdoc told him: 'Go to sleep… go to sleep… It's over, go to sleep…'

Again, 2D and Murdoc sat together in silence. For once, and both of them noticed this, it wasn't an uncomfortable one.

"You can talk to me anytime, Muds." 2D offered. "Like last night, yeah? I'll keep my ears open. And if talking annoys you, tell me the stop. I'll still listen."

"I told you, I don't do pep talks." Murdoc growled. Though it was against his nature, he managed to control himself and not punch 2D for the suggestion.

"Pep talks are bull. I know. I'm just saying you don't need this," he lifted the gun and pointed it at Murdoc. Murdoc didn't flinch. "To stop the shit in your head. 'Kay?"

Mother of God, he was being offered an olive branch. Murdoc couldn't recollect the last time anyone had the generosity of spirit to give him one. Too overwhelmed to make a derisive comment, he could only nod in reply. Nevertheless, he had to make a recovery. It would be of no good if Murdoc suddenly lost his acerbic edge. He nodded his chin toward the caliber. "Will you still keep that for me?"

"Sure. I said I would."

"And shoot me down when I get ya?" The bassist tried to tease.

"Like I swore. Yup."

Hopping off the table, they gathered the shooting gear and re-hung them on the wall. As they walked back through the corridors, Murdoc considered that it was perhaps time to talk to someone other than Cortez.

He didn't know whether or not he'd outlive the bird, at any rate.

Night fell, and Murdoc stared at the ceiling of his Winnebago. The digital clock on his dresser told him in glowing red numbers that it was a miserable 3:43 in the morning. Three hours prior, he had tried everything including whacking off. Alas, to no avail. When masturbation failed to make him drowsy, Murdoc knew he was at his wits end. His usual good night kiss, a bottle of chardonnay, did little to alleviate his restlessness.

Upon undressing and throwing himself in the midst of unclean sheets and cum-stained pillows, Murdoc discovered that he could not sleep. His bed smelt disgusting. His mattress was lumpy, itchy, and flat-out uncomfortable. Most importantly, he felt _cold_. No matter how many times Murdoc would roll himself up in his blanket, it seemed to him that a draft would sneak-in. Believing he could solve the problem with a pair of long johns, which he never deigned to wear in front of anyone, the bassist encountered yet another problem: constricted movement. In the long johns, he could not throw his legs or arms every which way. He hated it.

Tossing aside the thermal underwear, he grabbed a book and tried reading. That too, did not work. The words on the page blurred before him, and instead he found himself daydreaming about sheets fresh out of the dryer, goose feathered pillows, and the soothing smell of chocolate of cigarettes of coffee and of butterscotch.

"I lose." He said quietly as he shut his book. Cortez cawed softly, commiserating.

Five minutes later, he was standing in front of 2D's door. The door said to him, in neon spray paint: 'Sod Off!' but Murdoc mentally replied: 'Fuck you.'

He lifted his hand, hesitated, and knocked. From behind the door, there was the sound of grumbling and a pair of feet padding toward him. When the metal door swung open, Murdoc was greeted with the sight of 2D in blue panda bear pajamas. The singer rubbed his eyes and yawned hugely.

"Muds?" Apparently his voice cracked when not in use for a sustained period of time.

He received no response. Pushing past 2D, Murdoc kicked off his boots, unbuckled his belt, and threw off his shirt. Arriving at the side of the bed that he had slept on, Murdoc turned over the covers and slid in as if it was something he did every day of his life. 2D remained at the door, baffled.

"You comin' in, brainache, or not?" Murdoc asked blandly. He was already pulling the blankets up to his chin and curling-in with the warmth 2D had left.

2D blinked once, twice, and surrendered to the inevitable. He closed the door and felt his way toward the bed. Murdoc felt the mattress dip when his singer sit and lie down. He also felt it when 2D rolled over, shift closer to him, and press his lips against his. The delicate touch sent a surprisingly pleasant sensation down Murdoc's spine. All the knots in his back came undone one by one.

"Good night, Murdoc."

Then 2D turned away. Shocked, Murdoc tentatively touched his lips.

So _that's_ what they did.


	4. Chapter 4: No Change, But Better

"Half-Life"

Chapter Four – No Change, but Better

By: B.E.QUEST

Rating: R to NC-17

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Notes: Some graphic content (don't get excited).

His father, a tall, thin man with an elitist nose and a utilitarian stride, grabbed him by the collar. Murdoc yelped, which came out more as bark, at the violent tug around his neck.

"Come here, you _mongrel_!" His father snarled. "Come here!"

He was dragged on all fours from the wooden floor in the sitting room to the snow-covered ground of the yard. Pushed against the trunk of a barren tree, his father looped rope about his neck, pulled hard, and tethered the other end of the twine around the tree. When that was done, his father dusted his hands and stiffly climbed up the steps to the house.

Then there was waiting.

...Waiting…

…Waiting…

…Waiting…

The sky above was a murky gray, and before long bits of snow began to fall from above. Murdoc was cold. He shivered in place, and hoped that someone would come very soon and take him inside. Nose in the air, he sniffed for some comfort. The smell of fresh baked bread, perhaps? Or of char from a burning fireplace? Nothing. Merely ice. Panting, he opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue. A snowflake or two landed on it and melted. He was thirsty.

Crunch, crunch, crunch… His ears perked-up at sound of galoshes treading over sleet. Looking up, he saw the silhouette of someone familiar walking toward him. Excited, he stood and tried to run toward his master, only to be pulled back by the rope.

The rot iron gate screeched as it opened, and _he_ walked into the yard. _Him_. His friend, his loved one, his master. Murdoc jumped up and down, hollering: "You're home! You're home!"

But what came out was bark!bark!bark!

His master stopped before him and gingerly removed his cotton hat, revealing a head of long, light blue hair. Stuart knelt down. He touched his face- petted him on the head.

"I'm so sorry, Midnight." Stuart whispered.

Pulling out a revolver, Stuart turned it on him. Murdoc stared down the barrel stupidly. In his chest, his heart was pounding as fast as the hooves on a racehorse. Ba-dum! Ba-dum! He could hear it in his ears along with a roar of rushing blood in his head. He felt dizzy, hopeful, and terrified all at once. And yet the same thought circulated in his mind over and over, like a broken record he refused to throw away. It was a simple phrase, and he believed in it with stubborn faith.

'I love you! I love you! I love you!'

Bang.

Bang.

BANG!

Murdoc screamed, but there was no sound. His body was suddenly very wet and very warm. He sagged onto the snow, blood so dark it looked black flowed freely from him. It stained the ice.

His eyes darted around frantically as the whole world turned over, and all he could see was the night sky, the stars, the snow, and an engulfing darkness.

Murdoc bolted upright, chest heaving, arms trembling, and sweating all over. Beside him, 2D shifted and turned-on the light. They both squinted their eyes.

"Bad dream?" 2D yawned.

"Yeah."

Rolling over, 2D leaned his head against an upraised palm. He frowned at Murdoc in concern. There was perspiration dripping from Murdoc's unruly bangs. "What'd you dream about?"

"My dog." He shuddered and dropped to his back.

Nodding, 2D made no comment as he lay back down and slid one arm over Murdoc's chest. Without meaning too, Murdoc's entire body locked-up with tension. 2D sensed it. It was difficult not to.

"You're unpredictable, Murdoc." He said candidly. "One minute you're homophoebic, the next you're sharing my bed. One minute you let me kiss you, the next you do this." He gestured toward Murdoc's stiff body. 2D let out a deep exhale. "I'm a little slow, Muds. You know that, and I can't help it. You're gonna have to tell me what's okay and what's not, cuz I don't know what's going on."

"Nothing's going on." For answering too quickly, Murdoc immediately regretted it.

"I'm a _little_ slow. Not _really_ slow." His singer retorted. 2D ran his other hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know what I am to you. That's all right. I just don't wanna go back to the way things were before your birthday."

"What do you mean?"

"You hating me and treating me like you hated me. If you do that now or tomorrow or the day after that…It's like… It's like…" Without warning, he trailed off. He had so many things to say that were really important, and 2D knew it, but those things were also complicated and he couldn't explain half of what he wanted. Helpless, he began stuttering. "It-it's like… if you go back I don't know you for what you are because I've seen you different and that bothers me because at least when you didn't like me I- I knew you didn't like me, so it made it okay. I think…"

Seeing 2D struggle twisted something sharp inside of Murdoc. For a moment, he stopped thinking about himself and studied the furious blush on 2D's cheeks. 2D chewed on his bottom lip with the few teeth he had left. It was a reflex that never failed to appear whenever words were too difficult to deal with. It was as if 2D was desperately trying to force his own mouth shut to keep from embarrassing himself. Or his band. Or _Murdoc_. Another sharp twist.

"D… you don't have to explain yourself."

Unfortunately, Murdoc's first sober gesture of sympathy hit a very delicate nerve.

"Yes, I do! I have problems talking and stuff, but I know who I am and I'm fine with who I am. I don't want people feeling sorry for me, and I have to tell them that. What I want to know is if you're all right with the way _you_ are, cuz you're not acting like it."

The bassist chewed over what 2D said. In that time, his muscles unclenched, and the hand his singer had on his arm began stroking it slowly. It calmed him down, and that bothered him as it brought about a bunch of questions he never had to ask himself before. Murdoc's sexuality, so far as he was concerned, was as heterosexual as it could possibly be. In his heyday, Murdoc was bedding at least three women every two days. Without fail, he would have a lovely bird lying on his mattress, more than ready to give him his few moments of physical pleasure.

Yet as time went on, Murdoc needed more and more women. Three became five. Five became eight. In the back of his mind, he thought perhaps he was looking for something. To be sure, those he bedded were beautiful and young. They had slender, shiny legs, dainty feet and hands, full lips, and hourglass bodies. However, they were all empty inside. This was probably what he wanted in the first place: no brains equals no attachments. It made Murdoc's life easy, controllable, and methodical.

Now, upon entering what would be his fourth decade, Murdoc wondered if he had been missing out. The idea of it made the blood drain from his face. The implications of this, if it were true, meant that he had wasted half of his life.

2D watched, somewhat amused, as Murdoc's faced shifted from pensive to sickened to worried. Realizing he might have opened a can of worms at the wrong time, 2D gave Murdoc's arm one last rub before pulling his arm back. "Go back to sleep, Muds. It's still early, and we've got a gig tomorrow."

The last sentence was like a punch in the gut. He winced. "Forgot about that."

"So did I. Noodle taped a note to my meds."

The Japanese teenager was, as always, the ever-watchful mother. Murdoc grinned in spite of himself. "Clever girl."

2D turned off the light. "Have you practiced?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nah."

The lights went up. The audience roared. Noodle and Russell entered stage left, while Murdoc and 2D came in through stage right. Girls screamed when 2D ran to the edge of the platform and lent out his hand. Fingers shot up into the air, all dreaming of simply touching his. Murdoc, who usually did something similar, but with very few articles of clothing, decided to do something a little different.

He strutted. While Murdoc knew he was getting on, there was one thing nature could not take away from him: his unparalleled ability in shaking ass. When he approached the edge opposite of 2D, he too bent down and touched hands. Standing up, he kissed the cross on his neck and blew another kiss at the crowd.

Noodle, who was on the far left of the stage, had taken to wearing mini skirts, platform shoes, and tank tops. After living so long with 2D and Murdoc, she learned how move her hips provocatively and stride like a panther. All the men in crowd were crushed together at her side of the stage. Everyone, and this meant Russell, 2D, and Murdoc, made a mental note to buy Noodle pepper spray.

Behind them all, Russell stood on his platform and lifted both his arms in the air. He released a bellowing battle cry, which was responded to by the audience with an echoing roar.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" He yelled.

Again, the audience bellowed, and this time at thrice the volume.

2D gave the crowd an 'okay' sign with his hand and winked. Grabbing the microphone in front of him, he brought it to his lips. His voice came out low, smooth, and velvety. "Ladies and gentlemen of jolly old London…"

Before he could come close to finishing his sentence, women popped tonsils.

"…are you ready to kill your ears with pleasure?"

A resounding: "YEAH!"

Smiling, 2D snuck a peek at Murdoc and Noodle who were standing at either side of him. They nodded. "Then you better get rid of those undies… you're gonna wet them…"

Murdoc and Noodled strummed a bunch of chords on their guitars. Russell set the tempo. 2D bobbed his head to the rhythm. For a second he closed his eyes and let the sounds flow through him. When he opened his eyes again, 2D brought the microphone to his lips and began to sing.

"I need a gun to keep myself from harm

The poor people are burning in the sun

But they ain't got a chance

They ain't got a chance

I need a gun

Cos all I do is dance…"

Lifting his arm into the air, he invited the audience to join in the chorus. The whole stadium echoed with:

"Cos all I do is dance…"

When "Dirty Harry" wound down, they upped the power with "Dare," "Feel Good, Inc.," and "White Light." Once the top songs were dished out, and the audience's energy was beginning to get spent, 2D took on his favorite serenades: "El Manana," "Every Planet We Reach is Dead," and "Tomorrow Comes Today."

All the while, Murdoc watched him.

2D released the microphone, took hold of his knees, and took a deep breath in. His ears were humming with the buzz of their fans. His heart was pumping, and sweat dripped down his back in rivers. 2D felt wonderfully high.

Touching the microphone, he spoke shakily. "You… you guys are torturin' me!"

Everyone laughed.

Murdoc spoke into his own mic. "Ta, mates! That's my job!"

2D chuckled with the crowd, and held onto the microphone stand for support. "I'd just like to thank everyone who came here tonight to see us." He nodded to Noodle. "We got Noodle at lead guitar." The men cheered. 2D nodded to Murdoc. "Murdoc Niccals on bass." Girls and women screamed in mass orgasm. 2D turned around and lifted his arm to Russell. "And last, but not least, Russell Hobbs on drums and percussion." Everyone in the crowd raised their arms and wOOted with gusto. With credits done, 2D took a graceful bow. "Good night, dear London! Peace!"

The After-Party was the same as any other. It was held in a local upscale club, open only to the producers, the band members, and anyone whom they invited. Russell mingled with would-be drummers, DJs, and rappers. Noodle, meanwhile, found herself with a cramping hand. Asian Axe Princess though she may be, she was a generous entertainer at heart and usually found it difficult to reject fans wanting pictures and autographs.

Approaching Noodle with a bag of ice and a towel, 2D sidled into the seat opposite of Noodle at a private booth.

"Thank you, 2D-kun." She rubbed her knuckles with her left hand before grabbing the ice.

"No prob. You seen Muds?"

She nodded distractedly. "Yes. He is at the bar with another girl. I think he is going to take her to the trailer."

2D looked around, scanning the club. It was packed, but missing Murdoc was analogous to not spotting a Winnebago in a car park full of sports cars. Sure enough, he spotted him after a minute. He was standing next to a young woman in her twenties. She looked like his type: dark haired, pale-skinned, thin but curvy, and gothic. Judging by the surprised and pleased look on her face, 2D could tell that Murdoc was once again openly flirting. The girl didn't do much better, she was openly flirting back by touching Murdoc on the side of his arm and curling her long fingers in his unkempt hair.

When the two of them bent close to whisper to one another, the high that was buzzing through 2D's body abruptly shut-down. The smile on his face twitched into an uncertain grimace.

"Are you all right, 2D-kun? Are you having a headache?" Noodle never missed anything.

"I'm okay, Noodle. Took my meds right after the concert."

Turning her head toward the bar, Noodle observed Murdoc. "He is a difficult man. Is he not?"

"Oh, _yeah._" 2D didn't bother to keep the frustration out of his tone.

They ordered drinks. Since Noodle was still underage, and didn't find anything particularly charming about alcohol, she requested a Diet Coke. Her band mate, on the other hand, ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Together, they shared a comfortable, wordless companionship. The silence was only broken when Noodle spoke-up again.

"He will be better, 2D-kun."

Startled, 2D stopped stirring his empty glass with his straw. "Huh?"

"Murdoc-san." Clarified Noodle. "He cannot change- he is too old- but he will show his better half in time."

Intrigued, he cocked his head to the side. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because Murdoc-san is human. Like all humans, he wants good things for himself. He is just too proud to admit it." She finished the last of her soda and pushed the glass aside so she could touch the top of 2D's hand. "When you are young, you want things that do not matter. When you are old, you want what is important. You do not want to regret. This is so because of mortality. Death becomes scary when you face it."

Taking in Noodle's words, 2D fervently wanted to believe in them as he watched Murdoc take his latest catch by the hand and lead her out the door.

He kicked open the door to his band's trailer. Jizelle, the girl whom Murdoc had selected out of a throng of groupies, leaned lazily against his side. Upon entering the small room, she threw her taught arms around him and pulled him down for a wanton kiss. Murdoc grinned in delight, but nevertheless turned away."

"Sorry, love. Don't do kisses."

"Why not?" She asked the question out of sheer curiosity. Her tone showed she clearly did not care. After all, Jizelle was promised a nice, efficient fuck.

"I like living life fast." Murdoc explained as he picked her up. Jizelle giggled deliriously. "So let's cut to the chase."

Carrying her to one side of the trailer, the bassist laid her down on the sofa and placed a hand in between her legs. Jizelle was wearing a long black skirt that had a rather immodest slit going all the way up to her ass. Murdoc's hand traveled up her leg and underneath the skirt, searching for something warm and wet. Jizelle moaned and titled her head back.

"You know," She sighed. "You were always my favorite…"

"Oh, yeah?" He wasn't really listening. Murdoc had heard it all before. The same goddamned praises and vows of loyalty and love. If he wanted, he could record what one groupie said, play it when he caught his latest bird, and get to the sex as fast as possible.

With remarkable skill, his hand had wound around Jizelle's bottom and found the zipper to the skirt. He dragged it down, and with a flourish threw the skirt to the side without ripping it.

She wasn't wearing any underwear.

Glancing at her face, Murdoc found a smug grin there. The grin stretched to a smile as she willingly spread her legs wide open. Murdoc blinked. She had a stud on her clit and her pubic area was waxed clean. Her vagina glistened at him invitingly.

He unbuttoned his black shirt, tossed it on the floor, and unzipped his jeans. Jizelle's eyelids fluttered when she felt him settle between her sleek thighs.

"Mm-hmm… Rugged looks, wicked lifestyle, long tongue…" She continued in a deep voice. "And really, I'd rather do you than that hopeless moron."

The last statement stopped Murdoc short. "What?"

"Your singer, silly. He's pretty, but god I've heard about how stupid he is. A real bucket-head, that one." His hands remained where they were: on her bent knees. Touching her shifted from enjoyable to burning, and he was tempted to jerk away but was frozen to the spot. Meanwhile, the girl continued talking shamelessly. "The way he stutters reminds me of a retarded seven year-old." She laughed. It sounded like a sheep braying. "I dunno what other girls see in him. I mean, it'd be like dating a fucking cumquat... _Murdoc_?

Having found his nerves, Murdoc stood from the sofa, zipped-up his fly, and grabbed Jizelle's skirt from the ground. He threw it in her face.

"Get out."

Jizelle's jaw dropped. She was flummoxed. "What'd I say?"

"Too damn much, fat lips." Snatching his button-down, he jerkily slid his arms through the sleeves and started closing the front. When he noticed that the girl was still on the sofa, half naked, and gawking, Murdoc added: "_Go._"

She squeezed the skirt in her hands, upset as any disappointed fan could be. To Murdoc's annoyance, she continued to argue with him. "Let me get this straight, you insult him and beat the shit out of him all the time, but when I tell the _truth_- "

Murdoc had had it. He marched to the trailer door and yanked it open forcefully. "Woman, do you know the meaning of 'shut the hell up'?"

"Excuse me?"

"GET OUT OF THE FUCKING TRAILER, _BITCH!_"

Finally, the words seemed to sink into her head. She started putting on her skirt, but Murdoc could tell she was intentionally doing it slowly to piss him off. Enraged, he grabbed her by the hair- Jizelle yelped- and threw her out.

The girl landed on the ground, still partially nude. Jizelle sobbed and screamed at Murdoc: "You're sick!"

Standing up, Jizelle held onto her falling skirt and ran with tears in her eyes. With a sneer on his face, Murdoc was about to slam the door when 2D's face unexpectedly came into view. 2D peered at Murdoc's expression inquisitively, and then glanced at the groupie who was running away.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." He replied tightly. "She was a whorehouse cunt."

For a minute or two, they stood in front of one another awkwardly. Peeking over Murdoc's shoulders and finding no one else around, he asked: "Um… Can I come in?"

Murdoc was staring at nothing, too lost in his violent thoughts to notice 2D before him. 2D repeated: "Muds?"

He looked up.

"Can I come in? I wanna lie down for a while."

Nodding, Murdoc moved to the side. 2D walked through and was about to plunge into the sofa, when Murdoc stopped him.

"Not there. It smells like shit."

2D's brow furrowed. "I don't smell anything."

"Trust me." Murdoc said. "Just trust me."

They arrived in the car park of Kong Studios exhausted and heavy. Whereas Noodle and Russell took the door leading to the main lobby, Murdoc followed 2D across the lot. Just as the door was about to shut behind him, Russell glanced back in time to see the bassist disappear into 2D's room.

He felt worried, but at the same time, he wasn't too sure he wanted to know.

Murdoc sat at the edge of 2D's bed, rubbing his eyes and leaning against his knees. A touch of anger still swelled in his gut, and he didn't know what to do about. It crawled from its nesting place, nipping and scratching at his mind. 2D noted that Murdoc was exceptionally silent.

"What's in your head, Muds?"

Covering his scruffy face with his hands, Murdoc muffled: "I hate people."

His singer was undressing by the computer. He kept his slim back toward him. "_All_ people?"

Lifting his right foot up and over his knee, Murdoc tugged his boots off. His feet ached like hell. "No. Just the goddamned stupid ones."

As he was folding his shirt, 2D flinched slightly. "Oh."

Somehow, Murdoc's usually resentful ears picked-up something in 2D's voice they normally wouldn't have. It was subtle- barely even perceptible. From what Murdoc understood, it sounded like hurt.

"No, D." He said tiredly. "I wasn't talking about you." Swallowing his pride, and that felt like swallowing a grenade, Murdoc continued with: "You're not dumb. Never were."

2D slowly crossed the room to sit next to him. "Really?"

His question came out as a faint whisper. Murdoc turned to him.

"Really."

Inexplicably, 2D grinned. It was a sweet grin- one that was innocent and peaceful. The small smile made his whole face glow. Looking at him, Murdoc's breath got caught in his throat.

He had made the young man happy.


	5. Chapter 5: Dare

"Half-Life"

Chapter Five – Dare

By: Betttina Elvina

Rating: PG-13 to NC-17

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Notes: I give you my word I will please you with my next chapter if you put up with the quality of this one (like chap. 2, this was written with writer's block).

Two months had past, and in that time Murdoc and 2D had never spoken a word about the caliber. Regardless, 2D kept his promise and continued carrying the firearm. The gun remained, unless he and Murdoc decided to visit the shooting gallery, unloaded. Russell, on the other hand, was becoming uneasy. On several occasions, he had caught Murdoc staring intently at 2D from behind. They were long, lingering gazes, which the bassist frequently tried to cover behind a newspaper, a book, or even his guitar. Based on his expression alone, Russell couldn't tell what it meant. Murdoc was a master at keeping his face carefully masked. Thus, his imagination coasted through a plethora of scenarios ranging from a hidden vendetta waiting to explode on itself to violent, sadomasochistic lust. He almost cried himself to sleep when he involuntarily imagined Murdoc going at it with 2D by the ass. There couldn't be an image more traumatizing.

Yet nothing untoward ever happened between the two. Rather, he frequently saw them talking in the kitchen about music, women, or food, hanging around at the studio desk room, or walking toward the shooting gallery. The insults, the mockery, and even the kicks and punches had become few and far between.

It was fucking scary.

The worst Russell had seen Murdoc as of late was when he'd walk into the lobby and find him and 2D playing video games. Russell felt slightly disappointed with himself when he realized seeing Murdoc pummel 2D with a remote control made him relieved.

It was the only thing between the band members that remained normal.

As for the band itself, Murdoc took Russell completely by surprise last weekend. Every Saturday, at eight PM on the dot, 2D, Russell, and Noodle would go to the studio's bowling alley for a relaxing game and then hang out in the upstairs café for lattes and tea. Last Saturday, 2D invited Murdoc along. That, of course, was nothing new. Ever polite, the singer had never failed to invite Murdoc to their group activities. And, like clockwork, the bassist never failed to decline the invitation and to do so contemptuously. Russell's heart nearly went into cardiac arrest when he heard Murdoc finally say: "Okay."

Now that there were four of them, they could play competitively. 2D and Murdoc formed the first team- he wasn't shocked about that, he'd kill Murdoc if he were his teammate- whereas he and Noodle formed the second. To everyone's amazement, it turned out that Murdoc was actually an excellent bowler. They beat Noodle's team by three strikes, two of which were the bassist's. When the game ended, Murdoc went into his hip-thrusting victory dance while sticking out his tongue. Russell had sighed then. Murdoc had never been, and never will be, a very good winner or loser.

However, what was really eating away at Russell's mind was the gun 2D had been toting. He wasn't a fool, he had recognized the caliber as Murdoc's the first time he saw it in 2D's pants. This, coupled with Murdoc's behavior, made him concerned. Gut instinct told him that the two were very closely related, but he didn't know how or why.

This was why, when Russell caught 2D alone in the instrument room, he quickly shut the door behind him so they could speak in private. Hearing the door close, 2D shifted his attention away from the keyboard he was fixing toward the passage where Russell was standing.

"Hey, what's up, man?" 2D asked.

"Not much, just checkin' on what you're doing."

Nodding, 2D returned to unscrewing the back of a keyboard and tweaking around with the circuitry. When Russell failed to move, he invited the drummer to sit on the floor with him.

"I've, uh… been meaning to ask you something." Russell started, carefully collecting his thoughts and questions.

"Shoot."

"I noticed you and Murdoc have been getting along. That's cool, but… What's he doin' in your room? I thought he loved his Winnebago."

"He does." 2D confirmed, turning over the keyboard and testing the keys. Some of them made notes, while others still didn't. 2D stuck the screwdriver he was holding in between his lips and flipped the instrument over again. "'E… oes 'ere all d' time 'o 'heck en 'ortez…"

"What, man?"

2D yanked the screwdriver out of his mouth. "I said: he goes there all the time to check on Cortez."

"Is that all?" Russell probed.

"He goes there to grab some clothes, take a nap, or just be alone sometimes." Finished with more tweaking, 2D tested the keys again. They worked. "Why're you askin'?"

"Not to disrespect, but I'm worryin' about you, D." He paused, trying to think of the right words. "Murdoc's not… using you is he? Cuz if he is, I'll hit 'em in the nose so hard he'd be lookin' like Michael Jackson."

At Russell's very serious expression, which was mingled with a tinge of nausea, 2D laughed. "Nothing's happening, Russ."

"Nothing?"

The singer shook his head. "He's only been sleeping with me." 2D bit his tongue and turned pink. "That didn't come out right, did it?"

Russell covered his eyes with one his hands and shook his head. No, no it did not. He told himself to write a note reminding him to buy sleeping pills.

"What I meant was," Elaborated 2D, "he's been sleeping in my room. Said the car park is cold."

He scratched his head, still unsatisfied with the answers he was getting. "Never bothered him before."

2D shrugged. "I talk to him when he can't sleep too, so there's that."

Finally, it seemed like Russell had something to go on. "What you boy's talk about?"

"Private stuff, mostly." Snorting and chuckling to himself, 2D shook his head. "Like last night, he's been telling me about the girls he's been taking out."

"Murdoc's _dating_?"

2D couldn't credit the look of absolute horror in Russell's eyes. In all honesty, he couldn't blame him. The word didn't sound right, but it was the best term 2D could think of. In the past two weeks, Murdoc had been playing the field and attempted to do so 'properly.' Since he hadn't done this in longer than he'd like to admit, Murdoc brought-up the topic one night in 2D's room.

"_I've had it with groupies." _

_He was responded to with 2D choking on his cigarette. "What?"_

"_I said: 'I've had it with groupies.'" Murdoc sneered from his place on the 2D's floor. "They don't know what the hell they're talking about four-fifths of the time, and they couldn't give a man a good lay if their lives depended on it. Too bad for them, cuz their lives DO."_

"_So snatch a normal girl." Suggested 2D as he threw away his old cigarette butt and fetched a new stick from Murdoc's crinkled box of 666's. He frankly couldn't see what the problem was._

"_Yeah, right. Who?" He lent his hand out so they could share the nicotine. 2D slipped the fag into his fingers. After one puff, he said: " I don't know any birds who aren't either fans or prostitutes… Come to think of it, they're pretty much the same thing."_

_2D laughed. Murdoc passed him back the cigarette. "What about girls you knew in high school? Bet they'd be interested since you're famous now."_

"_Are you bloody mad? They must be all married and wrinkled!"_

_The singer refrained from commenting that Murdoc was the same age as them. "Why don't ya check?"_

_After hemming and hawing, Murdoc gave into 2D's advice not because he wanted to give the idea a chance, but because 2D dared him to do it. Murdoc, of all people, never ever backed down from a dare, and in truth part of him was curious what it would be like to spend time with a woman who didn't idolize him. After spending several hours with a phone directory and the operator, he came up with four names: Allison Green, Nicole Thompson, Emma McCorbic, and Jing Wang._

_DAY 1: Nicole Thompson_

_Coming back, Murdoc threw his jacket on 2D's chair and plopped facedown on his bed. 2D glanced away from his computer._

"_How'd it go?" He asked._

"_Not as pretty as she used to be" Came Murdoc's muffled response. "And she's boring."_

"_Boring?" 2D wasn't satisfied with the excuse. Women weren't boring, one must simply get to know them. "How?"_

_Murdoc lifted his head from the mattress. "She's a fuckin' sign language teacher, mate. YOU figure it out."_

_DAY 3: Allison Green_

_The door opened slowly. Too slowly. 2D lowered the magazine he was reading. "Well?"_

_He was more than a bit surprised to see that Murdoc was greener than usual. "She only eats fish. I'm allergic to fish. You got, Maalox?"_

_2D jumped off his bed and searched through his cabinet of medication. He was, without a doubt, his own pharmacy. When 2D found it, Murdoc took the bottle and clutched it to his ailing stomach. After grabbing a spare blanket and a pillow, Murdoc made for the door again._

"_Where ya goin'?"_

"_Toilets. Don't wait up for me. I won't be around for three days."_

_DAY 6: Jing Wang_

_Murdoc arrived home only thirty minutes after he had left. 2D didn't have to say anything. His band mate spoke as soon as he came in._

"_Still can't speak English."_

_DAY 10: Emma McCorbic_

_The door swung open. Murdoc walked in with two black eyes and a steak on his forehead. 2D blinked rapidly at him from his chair. _

"_She's married." He groaned._

"_What? I thought you bloody checked!"_

"_Well, she BLOODY lied!"_

2D couldn't help but wince at the memories. "Sorta. Not really. He hasn't exactly been having very good luck."

"No wonder they looked older." Commented Russell. "For a second there, I thought Murdoc needed glasses."

Realizing he might have dug his own grave prematurely, 2D said to Russell solemnly: "Don't tell him I told you, he'd really kill me."

"Sure, man. I wouldn't squeal on you." There was slight pause. Russell waited just in case 2D had anything else to add to their conversation. He didn't. "So that's it then? Murdoc's been okay?"

2D gave the drummer a firm nod. "That's it."

"Got it." Russell got up from the floor and made for the door.

"Um… Russell?"

Russell stopped with his hand on the doorknob. He turned around. "Yup?"

"You don't havta worry about me. I can take care of myself." The singer said confidently. " Besides, Murdoc's my best mate. If he needs a favor or two- like sleeping in my room, I don't mind."

Standing over him, Russell was momentarily glued to the spot by 2D's words. When he left, Russell swore to himself that he would never underestimate 2D's level of compassion again.

Now alone, 2D sighed heavily and tossed the screwdriver to the side. No, he did not mind at all. He liked what he had. It was comfortable and playful. Unfortunately, that didn't stop 2D from hoping that the bassist would make him feel good about himself again. It had been a long time since Murdoc had said anything as kind as acknowledging his latent intelligence.

Murdoc sat with his feet up in the Winnebago. In one hand, he held a martini glass filled not with the appropriate drink, but with old scotch. He took a certain, malicious pleasure in rebelling against the most idiotic things. This included using martini glasses strictly for martini.

He didn't know what he was doing. Maybe he was trying to make himself laugh. Scotch in a martini glass. A forty year-old ,_rich_ man in a Winnebago. It was all quite funny, really. Paradoxes. Ironies. Displacements. Murdoc was simply not used to acknowledging he was the ass of the joke, and that he fell under all three categories described above. When he did, that was when he retreated to the safety of his wagon. He could lick his wounds in peace and no one would know.

Taking another gulp of scotch, he let it roll around his tongue and burn holes through his taste buds. He drank scotch, like martinis and white Russians, only on certain occasions. With scotch, he drank to his stupidity and hoped that the amber drink made him look the slightest bit scholarly.

Alas, Murdoc set his glass down and took two cigarettes out from his pocket. Satan knew he needed them, for it had been a trying- _humiliating_- two weeks. It crossed his mind twice that he knew dating was a bad idea. It also crossed his mind _thrice_ that he had 2D to blame for even bringing the idea about. He had contemplated exacting revenge for his beaten ego by selling more of 2D's stuff on eBay, but Murdoc felt lazy about it. Moreover, it wasn't particularly easy exacting revenge upon someone who kissed you goodnight _every_ night. Murdoc couldn't believe it. Since he started bunking in 2D's room, he had forgotten to take a glass of red wine before sleeping for roughly forty or so days straight. If he kept this up, Murdoc realized there may come a day wherein he'd be completely sober. Of course, he doubted that highly.

Or so he told himself.

He had been having too much fun with the young man: shooting glass bottles off the balcony ledge, smoking pot and drinking, talking about things he was usually too reluctant to talk about, playing video games and losing every damn time… the list went on and on. Murdoc smirked to himself as he slipped both cigarettes in between his lips and lit them in one go. Fucking hell, he thought. I ask the guy to kill me, and he goes of and gives me reasons to stick around a lil' longer. The right bastard. I ought to kick his ass.

Except, once again, he didn't really want to.

Cortez flew into the kitchen and perched on the faucet. He ducked his head beneath his wings and pecked at an itch. Murdoc looked at his bird fondly. What the hell? He raised his arm and scratched his armpit. Cortez crowed in approval.

"Ya' know, Cortez, I dunno what the hell I'm doin' in here." Taking down his legs from the table, Murdoc stood and walked towards his bird. He leaned against the sink as he rubbed Cortez's forehead. "I spent my last two weeks hangin' 'round dames in menopause. Now I'm back to where I wanna be, and I'm so bored I want to _clean._" Murdoc shook his head in disgust. "And I call 2D a dullard. Huh!"

Reaching up, he opened a cupboard and found a jar of live worms. Murdoc unscrewed the jar, dipped his hand in, and pulled out a nice, big, juicy one. He dangled it before Cortez. Cortez snitched it and swallowed hard.

"You eat the way I drink, mate." Feeling generous today, Murdoc gave the bird another. "So what you think? How should I spend my night? I deserve a reward for putting up with my own fucked-up life, ey?"

After gulping down the second worm, the bird took flight across the wagon. Murdoc followed Cortez to where he flew. He found himself in his bedroom, where Cortez was standing over a magazine featuring the Gorillaz.

"'Ello, what's this?"

Cawing, the bird moved one of its feet, revealing 2D's face.

Murdoc snorted. "Smart ass."

Noodle was in the kitchen with Russell, teaching him how to correctly cut and serve sashimi with cold soba. They both turned when they heard the sound of boots clicking against the floor. Murdoc stood at the doorway, both arms stretched against the frame.

"You seen, D?" He asked.

"In the cinema. Watching old zombie movies again." Russell answered, not looking up from his cutting board. "Don't know why he loves the stuff. We got plenty of zombies right here."

"Right. Thanks." He pushed himself back and headed down the corridor. Noodle, who had an intrigued look for someone who saw the world with unfazed eyes, glanced at Russell.

"He thanked me." Russell sighed and rubbed his white-shot eyes. "The world is ending."

"Indeed." She replied. They returned to cooking.

As Murdoc strolled down the hall, he tried thinking of ways of asking 2D to get the hell out of Kong and join him in a night out without sounding too desperate for company. Recognizing he didn't actually have any plans in mind, part of Murdoc suddenly panicked. Instead of strolling, his gait shifted into a very slow walk.

Movies. There we go. The traditional 'outing' thing. If that didn't work, Murdoc remembered reading an ad in the paper about a new sound system in the metropolitan. He had wanted to look for an LP for a while now. It was high time to check them out before the iPods completely wiped them out of existence along with the CD player. Feeling ever the least bit more confident, Murdoc pushed the cinema door open. Just as he stepped in, whatever was on screen faded out and the lights lifted. He discovered 2D sitting at his favorite spot: center, center.

"Hey, D…" Murdoc greeted while walking down the aisle of seats. When he got to 2D's chair, his heart started picking-up the pace. Swallowing, he tried to ignore it. He didn't know what brought that on at any rate. "You fancy seeing another movie or somethin'?"

"Oh," 2D replied sheepishly. "I just finished 'Night of the Living Dead.' Um… I suppose I could go to the backroom and put another reel on."

When he rose, Murdoc stopped him by the shoulder and gently pulled him back to face him. "No, no, no. I mean, like, _out._ At a multiplex or a plaza."

"I dunno. The theater's been showing bad stuff lately."

If it were physically possible, Murdoc would have loved to kiss his incredible foresight. He had an alternative ready at the lips. "Then maybe look around at that new shopping center? Heard there's a state of the art sound system on display. We could check it out."

It didn't surprise him that 2D was hesitant, and most likely bordering on reluctant. It wasn't that the singer didn't enjoy doing new things and go out, it was the fact that his recurring migraines made it terribly difficult to do so. 2D dodged.

"But we have lots of sound systems, already."

Murdoc grimaced. This was not going as smoothly as he had wished. Not one to give up on something he wanted. Murdoc pushed. "Have you, uh, eaten yet? Cuz you know, there's a whole bunch of places we haven't tried. Come on, D. We're fucking famous and we're here all the time. It's driving me mad, man."

His singer wrung his hands together. "I dunno, I always wind up getting sick. Why don't you ask Russ or Noodle?"

To hell with it. Murdoc went in for the kill. "I was wonderin,' actually, if you wanted to hang out with me tonight? Just you and me."

2D stared at him.


	6. Chapter 6: Boys' Night

"Half-Life"

By: B.E.QUEST

Chapter Six - Boys' Night

Rating: PG-13 to NC-17

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

He wasn't sure he heard right. Feeling embarrassed, excited, and nervous all at once, 2D stood with his feet planted to the floor and his mouth clamped shut. His band mate stood before him with a neutral face: eyebrows leveled, mouth straight, eyes vacant. 2D knew that look, it was something Murdoc did to his face to convey that he didn't care one way or another.

Except that, and 2D wasn't entirely aware of this, Murdoc generally used this face when the answer he was waiting for mattered to him quite a bit. The muscles along the bassist's eyebrows, mouth, and eyes strained from refusing to show anything aside from nonchalance. It ached to not frown when 2D didn't seem at all up to it.

Seeing that 2D wasn't replying, the last of whatever courage Murdoc had mustered drained from his body and left him with jelly-legs. He did the only thing he could do before losing his patience and smacking 2D for being so difficult: save his own ass.

"You know what? Never mind. Forget it." He turned on his heels, agitated. "I'll go alone."

The words did not sink in until 2D actually saw Murdoc quickly walking down the aisle. His brain jumpstarting, 2D skipped along the chairs and chased after him.

"Hang on, mate. Wait!"

Murdoc was already about to leave the cinema, but 2D pushed the door shut just as Murdoc was opening it. The other turned around. Unluckily for him, he had removed his mask the moment his back was facing the singer. The frown Murdoc had been resisting was etched into every line of his face. 2D blinked in surprise.

"I- I wanna go with you." He continued. "Just um… Give me a sec to grab my meds?"

"Okay," In a flash, the crease in between Murdoc's brow smoothed out. "Meet you in the Geep?"

"Five minutes." 2D nodded.

The bassist nodded back.

Waiting in the Geep with the engine warming up, Murdoc watched through the rearview mirror 2D step out of his room and stuff a bottle of pills into his black cargo pants. It didn't slip his observation that 2D was smiling stupidly as he approached the car and jumped into the shotgun seat.

"So where to first?" He asked and pulled the door shut behind him.

Just then, Murdoc's stomach growled. Cursing his complaining organ, Murdoc squeezed the steering wheel and sighed. "Guess that answers your question."

"S'okay." 2D said. "I'm starving anyway."

Something made a gurgling sound. 2D looked down and touched his tummy. Murdoc chuckled.

"Well, guess our guts agree with one another."

Feeling less self-conscious, he shifted the gears to reverse and pulled out of the parking space. 2D grinned at him. He didn't tell Murdoc that he knew how to make his stomach growl at will by swallowing air and his own spit.

Save for the radio playing music, the ride was a relatively quiet one. With the Geep's hood down, the crisp night air blew into their faces and played with their hair. As they left Kong Studios and drove closer to inner urban life, 2D found himself unwinding and threw his feet over the dashboard. When they came to a stoplight, Murdoc leaned over and turned-up the volume to the jazz CD 2D had popped into the player. Closing his eyes, the singer let the vibrations of the subwoofer course through his chair and into his body. It was as good as any of the massages he'd ever had.

"The air's nice." 2D murmured.

"Should be." Murdoc replied, making a left turn into the metropolitan shopping center. "Summer's ending and fall's on its way."

2D opened his eyes. There were lights, lights everywhere. Garlands of mini-light bulbs hung on thin chains across the promenade, ground lamps were installed in between almost every other cobblestone, stores flashed neon signs… The glow seemed to keep going and going and never end. It was like a dream world, but with a living and breathing _pulse_.

Driving the Geep into the parking lot, Murdoc stopped at the ticket booth and leaned over to snag the validation stub. The bar blocking entry lifted, and they drove through.

Hence came the adventure of searching for a parking space.

Murdoc wound in, out, through and around section upon section of parking spaces, but all of them were packed. Upon the fourth lap around the lot, Murdoc had a growing urge to torch someone's automobile with the container of emergency gasoline he kept in the trunk and a match.

"Damnation to Saturdays." He grumbled, grinding at his teeth.

"If you ask nice, maybe someone leaving'll give us their spot."

"Yeah, right." He turned to 2D, who looked like he hadn't at all minded cruising around in circles. "Stupot, if there's anything about people I know, it's that people hate being harassed at parking lots. There was this one time, I followed an old lady, and when I rolled down my window, she pelted me with her fucking bag!"

"That's because you're scary-looking."

"Whatever. Anyway, I woulda' run over the old bitch if her purse of bricks didn't hit my eye."

"We could still try." 2D said, and, because he knew Murdoc adored gambling, added: "Free dinner on me if you're right."

Murdoc stopped the car on the road between the plaza and the lot. "It's on."

2D began searching through the crowd of people milling through the crosswalk. He immediately skipped the elderly, since they walked too slow, and anyone between fifteen and twenty-five since he didn't want them to get bogged-down with talkative fans. Upon finding a man in his prime carrying a shopping bag labeled 'Nike,' 2D tapped Murdoc's shoulder. "Hey, hey. Here's someone. Move up the car."

Removing the Geep from neutral, Murdoc drove slowly until they caught up to the man's side. 2D leaned against his door. "Hi, are you leaving?" He asked with as much charm as he could. "Cuz we could really use a parking space. Mind if we follow you?"

"Course not. I'm in section E4."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The man started walking again, and pointed toward the direction he was going. Murdoc nodded and followed. After the stranger had gotten to his car, loaded his trunk, and pulled out, Murdoc swiftly slid into the space. He turned the key. The engine stopped. He could feel 2D swelling with pride next to him.

"Say it."

"You owe me a cheeseburger."

They stepped into a hamburger restaurant where they were led by a blushing waitress to an empty booth. Sliding into their separate seats, the waitress handed them their menus and did her best to pretend they were the same as any other guest, except they were richer and sexier.

"Hi!" She said chirpily, tossing her curly blond hair over her shoulder. "My name is Vivian. I'll be your server today." Pulling out a notepad and a pencil from the front pocket of her apron, she asked: "Any drinks I can get you while you blokes decide what to order?"

2D didn't even have to open his menu. He knew exactly what he wanted and said in a rush: "Vanilla milkshake, please! With a cherry on top!"

Vivian grinned from ear to ear. The singer was terribly cute. She scribbled down his order. She gave a sideways glance to Murdoc. "And for you?"

"Heineken, if you got it. If you don't..." Murdoc mockingly looked around him. "_Sod_ this place."

Finishing writing down Murdoc's drink, Vivian stuffed the notepad and pencil back into her apron and left. When she swung around, Murdoc got a full view of her shaking butt. The miniskirt uniform she was wearing bounced happily over it. Noticing his band mate's stare, 2D glanced over his shoulder. When he looked back at Murdoc, he gave a 'so-so' signal with his hand.

"Don't like it?"

"It's kinda square. Needs to be like this…" 2D made a half-moon shape with his hands in the air. Murdoc laughed.

"I'll be damned. Didn't know you were picky."

He snorted. "And _you're_ not?"

"Hang on." Murdoc said, gesturing to 2D to stop talking. "Flying bird at two o'clock."

Freezing, they waited as another waitress came up from behind 2D and walked past their booth. Murdoc took a quick peek over his shoulder.

"A bit small." He commented.

To be fair, 2D defended the anonymous waitress. "She's got nice legs, though. Very long."

"Why thank you!"

They jumped in their seats. Vivian was back with their drinks. She bent down low to set a tall glass frothing with whipped cream in front of 2D and a chilled green bottle of Heineken before Murdoc. While she did this, they got a full-view of her D-cup breasts.

"You chaps ready to order?" She asked while standing upright.

"I'll have the Hawaiian cheeseburger with chips." The singer answered first.

Having not opened his menu since they entered the restaurant, Murdoc took advantage of the spare time and made a cursory glance at the entrees. "Filet mignon for me, love. Rare. And by rare, I mean bloody and slightly twitching."

She nodded and folded the serving tray she was holding under her arm. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Give me a holler if you need anything."

Tossing a straw in 2D's direction, Vivian left again. 2D tore open the wrapper covering his straw and stuck the straw into his milkshake. Murdoc, on the other hand, popped open his beer.

"Implants." They said together.

Stopping from taking their first sips, they stared at one another for a moment and burst out laughing.

"You noticed?" Murdoc asked, blowing at the frosty mist wafting from his beer.

"I'm mentally deficient not _blind_." His singer joked. Plucking the cherry from the top of the whipped cream, 2D sucked on it.

He didn't notice that Murdoc swallowed tightly and had to looked away. Clearing his throat, Murdoc made an interesting proposition. "Tell you what. Let's play a game before the food comes."

"A game?" Friend or not, Murdoc was vicious when it came to games. "What kind of game?"

"I ask a question about you. You answer. You ask a question about me. _I_ answer. If neither of us can answer in thirty seconds, we either ask a harder question _or_..."

"Or?" 2D was interested, but didn't like where the 'or' seemed to be going.

"Or make the other person do whatever we like." He fully expected the I'm-gonna-be-sick-look on 2D's face, therefore he softened the rules. "Example: if you ask another question I don't wanna answer, you can tell me to do one thing for ya. That's it. Course, the list'll pile up if I keep dodgin.' Sound good?"

"I'll give it a shot." 2D said with a slight smirk. After all, there were more than a handful of offensive questions to ask Murdoc, and he could really use a few favors.

"All right. Easy stuff first. Go on."

"'Kay." 2D thought for a second. "What'd you do before the Gorillaz, like a job?"

Murdoc took a swig of his beer before answering. He wiped some of the beer hanging on his lips with the back of his hand. "Auto-mechanic."

2D stopped playing with his straw. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Did it while I was in high school and after. Always was good with my hands." The bassist smiled wickedly, but it didn't last long. "I got into music really young, but my dad didn't think it was 'practical.' Wanted me to be an accountant like him, the old bugger." While he thought about it, Murdoc rubbed his thumb along the neck of his bottle. "So I figured, hell, fuck the sod and save up for a guitar. Did that. Got the guitar."

Grabbing a spoon, 2D scooped up the clumps of ice cream in his glass and dribbled them down his mouth. "But you kept working after that? How come?"

At the remark, Murdoc visibly flinched. "That's two questions."

"Oh." His companion bit his lip.

"My turn." He started, wanting to divert the attention elsewhere. "First time you fucked."

"Knew that was coming. Seventeen."

"Seventeen? Why, you're a mighty late bloomer."

2D took that as a good-natured tease. "Better late than never, ey? Now you. What was your first kiss like?"

The question nearly made Murdoc spit-out his beer. He coughed. "Pass. New question or-"

"You can buy-back all my things you sold online." Finished 2D.

"Shit." No matter how many times his subconscious told him not to underestimate 2D, Murdoc always wound-up shooting himself in the foot by forgetting. Bloody bastard, the bassist thought darkly. You just had to get up and sell most of his shit overseas.

"Your rules." Said 2D in a singsong manner. He sucked more milkshake through his straw, but the singer soon got tired of getting small doses and opted for drinking straight out of the glass. Murdoc watched in amusement as 2D set down his drink, revealing a hideous milk mustache. Snatching a napkin from the dispenser on the table, Murdoc handed it to 2D.

"Sweet Satan, you're worse than Russell." 2D laughed behind the napkin. Murdoc's eyes widened. "Whoa, don't you fuckin' start squirtin' milk out your nose. This shirt's my fave."

Pulling the napkin away from his face, 2D balled it up and threw it at Murdoc. His band mate dodged the soaked wad by tilting his head. "Oh, shut up, Muds. Come on, it's your turn."

Contemplating what to ask, and deciding it was time to start digging for the important information, Murdoc nodded toward 2D's shoulder. "Your tattoo…"

"This one?" His singer shifted to reveal the giant '2' hidden behind his jacket. Murdoc shook his head.

"No, no. The K.F.C. What's it really mean?"

Taken off guard, 2D swallowed thickly as he was suddenly reminded of his late older brother. Quietly, he said: "You know what it means-"

"Bull shit. Don't lie to me."

At those words, 2D hunched his shoulders and looked as though he wanted to melt through his seat. The reaction reminded Murdoc of the 2D who had come out of the coma. The behavior didn't suit his 2D in the least.

Observing that he may have asked a more serious question than he realized, Murdoc softened his tone and lowered his voice. "What's it mean, D?"

The singer meditated over whether or not it was worth being asked a more personal question or doing a favor for Murdoc. Yet the idea of sharing this small piece of his life with someone else was, in its own way, tempting. None of the band members knew about Kenneth. No one. Looking around him and deciding it was too crowded to converse about this, 2D leant across the table and whispered: "I'll tell you in private."

Stunned, Murdoc chose to let 2D's negotiation stand. "All right. Later, then. Your turn."

Putting his elbows on the table and knitting his fingers together, 2D cocked his head and looked straight into Murdoc's face. "Why's your left eye red?"

Again, Murdoc was stunned. He finished the last of his Heineken and pushed the empty bottle aside. Not looking back at 2D, he replied: "I deserved that." Then he paused meaningfully. "I'll tell you in private."

2D nodded.

A blanket of silence draped over them, which was thankfully diffused by Vivian who had their food at the ready. Lifting a hot plate from the tray on her shoulder, Vivian slipped the filet mignon in Murdoc's direction and the cheeseburger with chips in 2D's.

"There we are! All nice and hot! Is there anything else I can get for you?" Inquired Vivian.

Murdoc and 2D waved her off and nodded their thanks. Alone again, they dug into their food. Slicing into his steak with his knife, the bassist was pleased to find blood ooze from the meat. Not twitching, but good enough. Meanwhile, 2D had grabbed his giant Hawaiian cheeseburger and chomped at it with the side of his mouth. This action made Murdoc pause in mid-bite. He watched, disturbed, as 2D struggled to bite and chew because of his lack of front teeth.

Without warning, the succulent food on Murdoc's plate did not strike him as appetizing. Hand shaking, he slowly set down his fork and knife.

"What's wrong?" 2D asked innocently. "Food not good?"

He felt sick. Here he was, trying to have a good time, and here was 2D, who was trying to have a good time with him, but couldn't even eat a goddamned cheeseburger the way it should be eaten. Looking up from his plate, Murdoc all the more cursed himself when 2D didn't appear to mind the extra effort. Swallowing and trying to get his voice to work, Murdoc laid out what had to be said on table.

"Why don't you hate me?"

"Huh?" Putting down the burger, 2D snagged a fry and dipped it in ketchup. "Are we still playing?"

"No, I'm just asking." Glancing at his empty Heineken, Murdoc wished he hadn't downed it so fast. "I've done so much messed-up shit to you it's bloody mad you haven't tried to throttle me yet."

Not understanding where this was coming from but knowing this was important, 2D washed down the food in his mouth with some more milkshake and wiped his mouth. "You do piss me off, Muds. A lot, actually." Started 2D. "But if you didn't hit me with your car, I wouldn't be here. Lookit at all I got, mate. Money, a band… and I'm actually doing what I've been daydreamin' about when I was workin' at the Emporium. If you didn't give me my two dents, I'd've gone nowhere."

"But your headaches-"

"Hurt like fuck, but I'm still alive." 2D took another large bite from his cheeseburger. He still chewed as he talked. "That's all that counts, right?" When Murdoc could not reply to that, 2D pushed Murdoc's plate closer to him. "Eat up, man. You're makin' me feel weird eatin' all by myself."

Murdoc picked-up his utensils. Though still not hungry, he could eat for 2D.

The first five minutes of their dinner was distractingly quiet, but when their song '19-2000' started playing through the ambient stereo system, the ice that had formed was broken. They conversed about how much their band's flavor had evolved since they first formed in 1997. 2D commented that it was hard to believe that they had known each other for nine years. Murdoc agreed. For some reason that escaped them both, it felt like longer. Murdoc ordered drinks in honor of their fame and reunion, and insisted on buying 2D a margarita before they leave. 'If you're gonna eat with me, mate, you gonna drink with me.' He said, calling their waitress over. A margarita, two strawberry daiquiris, and a kamikaze later, 2D started getting giggly while Murdoc had a fierce blush smeared over his face.

"I'm gonna throw-up when we get home." 2D moaned, though he was smiling and beautifully plastered.

"That's my plan too." Murdoc sighed. In the end, he had finished off everything on his plate. "Dessert?"

His band mate grimaced at the idea. "Are you fucking _crazy_? No!"

Chuckling, Murdoc rose slightly from the table and reached for his wallet in his back pocket. Chucking a bunch of twenties into the black mini-folder containing their bill, he made to get out of the booth. 2D followed suit. Moving quickly, the singer discovered, was a bad idea. He had to lean onto the backrest of the booth for support.

"We'll walk it off." Murdoc assured.

"If I _can_ walk."

Before 2D could protest, Murdoc threw one of his arms over his shoulders- offering stability. "Now, D. What's my old saying?"

"You're not properly drunk unless you're on the floor and holding on."

"Good."

To 2D's amazement, Murdoc was right. Walking around the shopping center, looking through windows, and talking about inconsequential things such as 'why didn't anyone invent glow-in-the-dark gummy bears?' took 2D's mind off his full stomach and allowed it to digest properly. Before he knew it, they were at the sound system store Murdoc had been talking about. By then, his stomach was flat and his tipsiness leveled.

Murdoc crossed his arms as he examined a record player on display. It was quite lovely: wooden, rather than industrial, and it had a gold finish along the edge of the glass coverlid. He ran his finger along the neck of the needle. "You ever owned a real record player, Stupot?"

His singer turned away from the speakers he had been admiring. "Nah. My dad does, but it's old. Why?"

Smiling, Murdoc flipped through the sample vinyl records the store kept next to the player. Unsurprisingly, a majority of the records weren't to his taste, but he had the good luck of finding 'Black Sabbath' in the mix. He pulled the record out of its sheath, leveled the disk with his eyes, blew off dust, and set it on the LP's turntable.

"There's a reason why old school exists. Come here."

The bassist was standing in a display unit, which included a record player, a CD player, a speaker system, surround sound, sample LP's, and a leather sofa for the customers to enjoy while sampling the products. 2D walked up to Murdoc, bending down slightly to look at the machine.

"There's digital shit like CD and MP3 players," Murdoc explained. "And then there's vibration- the _real_ deal."

Turning on the player and carefully laying the needle on top of the record, Murdoc stepped back and settled into the sofa. He laid with his arms spread across the top of the backrest. Not saying a word, Murdoc shifted a inch or two to the left, tacitly inviting 2D to sit next to him. 2D accepted.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but hissing coming out of the speakers. Not expecting the quality of sound that rushed forth caused the singer to jump in his seat. Smirking, Murdoc pulled him back down by the sleeve. "How 'bout it? A beauty, isn't she?"

"It's awesome!" 2D's jaw was hanging open. "Totally different from my dad's. His was all beat-up. The sound was really bad too. This is different. Better than a CD turntable even."

"I agree," But Murdoc frowned. "Too bad they're dying out."

2D turned to him. "Why? This is so great."

"It's all about the money and convenience. Records are huge. Can't carry'em 'round all over the place like a CD or iPod. Limited songs per disc. CDs can hold, what? Up to thirty? Vinyl can't even hold half that. MP3s are worse. Thousands." He had always wanted to have this kind of conversation with someone, but to his dismay discovered that the rest of the world was two-dozen steps ahead of him. Looking at 2D, who had somehow started inching closer to him, Murdoc found on the young man's face something he thought only he possessed: the love for pure sound. Chewing on his lip, Murdoc had to ask: "Why do you think it's better, D?"

It was a good question, and it required a sensitive ear to detect the quality differences between CD and LP. 2D didn't say anything for a while, trying his best to find the right words to describe what he felt. "I dunno…" He said at last. "It's like the sound's actually in the room."

His explanation flew straight over Murdoc's head. "_What?_"

"Instead of like, coming from speakers. The music just… is… and…" 2D sighed and bit down on his bottom lip to stop himself. Murdoc studied him curiously. "Sorry. I don't know what I'm trying to say."

Tilting his head, Murdoc remembered what he had told 2D after their concert in London. The singer was highly intelligent. He no longer had any doubts about that since 2D pointed out the bassist's insecurities to him. Realizing that his band mate deserved a chance to be listened to and not be brushed to the side, Murdoc decided to do something he wasn't good at: being patient. "Keep going." Said the bassist calmly. "Maybe I'll get if you keep going."

Wringing his hands nervously, 2D nodded. It was plain that he was uncertain of himself, but not many people had offered him to have the floor when his condition started to show. Now, he was receiving what he had always wanted: respect, and the singer felt compelled to answer. "Um… It doesn't hurt the ears, and if I don't look at the record player, I'd forget the music was coming from a machine. It just sounds and feels _real_. It has-" 2D's eyes flashed enthusiastically. He's got the perfect description. "It has flesh to it!"

Murdoc blinked. "Do you mean 'organic'?"

2D blinked back. "What's that?"

"Organic, mate." He crossed his left leg over his right knee, and settled deeper into the sofa. Murdoc felt pleased with himself. "It's means natural. _Earthy._ The music sounds earthy."

"Yeah!" Smiled 2D. "That's exactly what I mean! Muds, you got it!"

To the both of them, it felt as if their wavelengths adjusted to compensate for one another, and that the transmissions from either side were as clear as day. Nine years, 2D had said. They had known one another for nine years. Neither of them mentioned how foolish it was that they hadn't tried this until now.

They left the store not buying anything. The clock post standing in the middle of the promenade told them it was only ten-thirty in the evening. The night was still young, and they still hadn't explored the rest of the plaza.

"It's like I'm a backwards dictionary." 2D said as they were walking down a line of open stores and display windows. "I know all the meanings, but I know jackshit what the words are."

"Better than knowing all the words, but not the meanings." Murdoc replied, staring at him straight in the eyes.

A thrill of delight spiraled down the singer's spine and settled in the middle of his gut. It sat there, warm and soft, and spread throughout the rest of him until it hit his head. 2D smiled. "Guess you're right."

The night was chilly, and their walk had slowed down along with the rest of the bustling crowd. They kept close to one another, almost shoulder to shoulder. In their own minds, they told themselves it was because it was cold and they didn't want to get bumped into by rushing shoppers.

Denial could not be more pleasant.

Although it was still early, Murdoc yawned several times. He could not comprehend why he was beginning to feel tired, but it was of a different sort compared to the kind when they were on tour. Rather than feeling aches, sores, and a twist of anxiety for their next gig on the road, the bassist felt mellow and satiated. When 2D spoke, he at first responded, but later began to simply nod. His ears were forgetting to interpret what 2D was saying, and they were permitting the singer's tender voice to slither in and undo all the other worries entangled in his head.

"Murdoc, look!"

The change in pitch was what took Murdoc out of his daze. He looked in the direction 2D was pointing at. His eyebrows went up his hairline, and he tried not to grumble out loud. 2D was pointing to an arcade.

"Can we go in and play?" His singer asked. 2D already was holding onto the cuff of Murdoc's sleeve and was tugging at it like a hopeful child.

"What? And let you trample all over me again?" He snorted.

"If I remember right, _you're_ the one who does all the trampling. Anyway, they got other stuff in there too, not just video games." When Murdoc gave him a doubtful look, 2D started grasping at straws. "Like ski ball or- or air hockey!"

The bassist sighed, "I'm gonna lose this argument, aren't I?"

"Yup! So you might as well go with it!" Before Murdoc could resist any further, 2D pushed him from behind.

Upon entering the arcade, it was as Murdoc had feared: video games, cheap prizes, token machines, and cotton candy bags everywhere. He had only been to Las Vegas once, and if he had to draw a comparison, which he did, Murdoc would say this place was a watered-down Circus Circus.

"Look," offered 2D, "I'll pay for the tokens. You grab us an air hockey table. I'll be back."

He opened his mouth to say something derisive, but the singer was too quick and had already disappeared in the middle of the colorful mayhem. At a loss, Murdoc walked around until he found an available table. After waiting there a few minutes, 2D found him and was carrying a handful of gold coins in hand. 2D slid four of the coins into the metal coin deposit and pumped the dispenser. A white, plastic disk popped out of the Murdoc's return slot. As the air hummed through the machine, Murdoc pulled out the disk and tossed it into the middle of the ring. The disc drifted to 2D's side of the table, when he got it, they held onto their respective air hockey mallets.

Truth be told, Murdoc hadn't played this since he was fourteen.

2D set the disk in front of his mallet and, with a sharp twist of his wrist, propelled the disk toward Murdoc's goal. Blocking, the bassist threw the disc against one of the walls of the ring. The disk bounced off the wall, hit the opposite side, and was about to sink into 2D's goal, when the singer blocked at the last minute.

"Ta, mate. That all you got?" Murdoc teased.

The other stuck his tongue out, flipped the disk in the air, and chucked it. It slid straight into Murdoc's goal. The scoreboard above the ring switched from 0-0 to 0-1. He retrieved the disk from the return slot.

"Oh, now you're asking for it."

Again, he hit the disk against the wall, but at a shorter angle. The result had the disk bouncing from side to side violently. 2D tried to block, but the disk changed direction and he missed. Bending over, he took it out of his slot.

"1-1." 2D stated. "Bring it on."

The disk slid from across the miniature ring, bouncing against walls or floating in along the surface. The score bored blinked from 1-1 to 2-1 to 2-2 to 2-3. 2D was up ahead by one point. Murdoc wasn't about to go down without playing dirty.

"Hey, D. You got shake on your chin."

"I do?" The singer turned away to wipe his face. Murdoc took out the disc and knocked it across the ring. It sank. The scoreboard blinked to 3-3.

2D looked at the glowing numbers, appalled. "Muds! You cheated!"

"Really? I didn't notice. I was too busy being-" The disk clunked loudly into Murdoc's goal. Murdoc looked down. "Hey!"

"A sneaky bastard?" His band mate finished for him, a sly smile crawling across his lips.

The machine didn't return the disk. Instead, the siren light over 2D's score went off and started rotating.

"Looks like I won." The singer commented, blowing on his fingernails and rubbing them against the collar of his jacket.

"Luckily for you, we're in public." Murdoc sneered, tossing his air hockey mallet aside and crossing his arms petulantly.

2D looked up from his fingernails and gave the bassist an alluring look. "Since when has that stopped you?"

"Good point."

He bolted. Murdoc ran after him.

Laughing harder than he ever had in his life, 2D wound around the other game players, jumped over tables and chairs, and spun people around in his wake. Murdoc was in hot pursuit, leaping over the mallet games and stools, jumping across the mess 2D left behind for him, and shoving people out of his way.

Off the corner of his eye, something caught the singer's attention. He screeched to a sudden stop and turned around. There, standing against a wall, was the best video game ever created by man. 2D was about to walk up to it, when he was knocked to the ground from the side.

"Got ya! You little twit!" Murdoc was sitting on 2D's stomach triumphantly, but his victory speech was cut short when he noticed 2D staring past him. Turning around, he saw it: Zombie Shooter V: Return to the Crypt.'

"We need one of those at home." 2D murmured, but then he shifted to look at Murdoc. "Play?"

Getting off him, Murdoc lent out his hand helped his band mate off the ground. Dusting his clothes off, 2D deposited two coins into the game. The screen blinked and cheesy, 1980s music started to play. They grabbed their guns from the holsters attached to the machine.

The game started. Highly pixilated zombies burst through the walls of the hallway present on screen. Holding the gun in his hand as Murdoc had taught him, 2D sniped at two of the zombies on his side of the screen. Meanwhile, Murdoc covered him.

In the middle of approaching a digital graveyard and starting a two-dimensional blitzkrieg, a dull pain at the left side of 2D's forehead began to pulse. The singer tried to ignore it and continue firing at zombies, but soon the lights flashing before him became overwhelming and the pain crawled from the front of his head to the back where it pinched. The fake gun dropped from his hands and hung from its chord. 2D touched the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Shit." He turned away from the game completely, and focused on covering his ears and not looking at anything but the back of his eyelids or the ground. Murdoc replaced his gun into the machine's holster and approached 2D from behind.

"Migraine?"

2D nodded. It was a strong one. Already, there was an oily, almost metallic taste contaminating his mouth. It made him nauseous. "It's the lights…" 2D moaned, covering his eyes. "…I need to get away from the lights."

Taking his band mate by the arm, Murdoc led him out of the arcade. The fresh air outside made him feel a little better, but the lights that blasted the whole place made the pinch on his brain tighter. It hurt so badly, that a few tears popped from the corners of his eyes. He began seeing stars.

The pain he was feeling did not disguise itself. Murdoc could see 2D's forehead glisten with a faint sheen of sweat, the furrow in his brow, and the unmistakable paling of color in his face. 2D covered his mouth and leaned against Murdoc's shoulder.

"You gonna be sick?" It was a dumb question, and the bassist knew it, but he had to say something.

"I dunno… I got medicine in one of my pockets." Even with his eyes closed, the noise around them hammered into his head at quadruple the normal volume. Sensing he might lose his balance, 2D turned around and laid his eyes against Murdoc's neck. "Can you get it for me, please?" He whispered hoarsely. "It's in the zipper on the right pant leg."

Murdoc bent down slightly while holding 2D upright. It was not an easy task, but he nevertheless found the pocket 2D was talking about. Digging inside it, he found with his fingers the small, cylinder bottle holding the medication. After reading the prescription and popping the lid open, Murdoc put two pills into 2D's trembling hand and stored the medicine in his own jacket. The singer swallowed the pills dry.

They stood still for a significant amount of time. Murdoc ignored the odd stares they were receiving. The clock struck midnight, and the shopping center was gradually emptying of people. Knees locked, it dawned on Murdoc that his legs were getting tired and 2D should be lying down.

"D, lets go to the car."

"I can't move." He murmured in return. Pulling away from Murdoc slightly, the bassist almost gasped at 2D's state. His light blue hair was clinging, wet onto his face. "I'm having aura."

"Aura?"

"The doctor said… it's when… it's when you see flashing in front of your eyes, even though… even though it's not really there." Shuddering, 2D buried his face against Murdoc's shoulder again. It muted the lights and the noise. "It's like having a strobe light inside you."

Having heard enough, Murdoc, being shorter, shifted beneath him. When he sensed that the singer's chin was hanging over his shoulder and that his warm stomach was flush against his back, Murdoc lowered his arms and blindly searched for 2D's legs. Finding them, he hooked his elbows around the knees and hefted 2D up.

"Murdoc?" 2D groaned.

"Just hang on, 'kay?"

2D wrapped his arms gently about Murdoc's neck. The bassist adjusted him slightly and began walking toward the parking lot. The motion was making 2D's head swim, and he had to will himself to not throw-up all over the person beneath him.

Murdoc grunted at 2D's weight. Thing though he may be, 2D was either heavier than he looked or he Murdoc simply wasn't as strong as he used to be. The bassist scoffed at the thought. 2D was definitely heavier than he looked. Regardless, his back was starting to ache. When their Geep came into view, Murdoc sighed in relief.

"We're here. Can ya get off me?" He bent his knees slightly so 2D was closer to the ground. The singer slid off and threw his weight against the side of the car. Unlocking the car, Murdoc popped the hood up and opened the door to the back seat. "Let's go to the back. You can lie down there."

Laying his hand on the car seat, 2D hoisted himself up and dragged his body along chair. In the mean time, Murdoc was searching through the glove compartment in front of the shotgun seat. He found a water bottle. "Want some water?"

With his upper torso leaning against the side door and his long legs curled-up beneath, 2D slowly shook his head. The oily taste in his mouth was still terrible, but he didn't want to make his stomach turn over by putting more stuff into it. Murdoc returned the water bottle to the compartment, and carefully lifted his leg through the small space between the two front chairs. He settled on the far end of the back seat. 2D's toes were touching his knees. He lightly squeezed his shoe. 2D looked at him. His eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion.

The bassist smoothed his hand over the empty spot next to him. "Come here, D."

Too tired and pained to complain, 2D switched positions and allowed his head to fall back onto the headrest. Murdoc listened to him breathe in and out in measured beats. Chewing on the inside of his lip, he adjusted his seating position enough so he could face 2D. Hesitantly, he laid two fingers on both of the singer's temples and started rotating his fingers counterclockwise.

2D sighed. It didn't get rid of the throbbing that had spread across his brain, but with the help of the medication, the rubbing motion took the edge off the agony. Then, something strange happened. The singer forgot about what was feeling due to a peculiar sensation that had draped over his chest. He felt warm, comfortable, and safe. He started thinking less about his migraine and more about the calloused fingers that were moving in slow, gentle circles at either side of his head. Unable to stop himself, 2D released a deep, breathy sigh.

To Murdoc's ears, it sounded like a very aroused moan.

His fingers stopped moving. They froze over where they were, and Murdoc had to swallow. His mouth was dry.

"Don't stop." The singer mewled. "It helps."

Lost over what had just happened, Murdoc continued what he was doing without comment. The body before him visibly sagged in relief under his touch, and it took no time at all before he found 2D laying against chest and inside his arms- his soft head of hair tucked safely beneath Murdoc's scruffy chin. He didn't stop massaging his temples.

"K.F.C…" 2D slurred, drunk from an eventful night, a full belly, and a loose embrace. "They're the initials of my late brother."

Murdoc looked down on him and whispered back. "Why'd you let me make fun of it like that?"

"What you said was true," the other grinned sleepily. "'I love my K.F.C.' He was workin' at my dad's carnival- like I did before the band regrouped. Fell into the engine of ferris wheel. Didn't even scream, dad said. Happened so fast." 2D pushed his nose against the cotton of Murdoc's shirt. "Was my best mate… before you."

Unconsciously, Murdoc's left arm arched over 2D's narrow back and pulled him so close he could feel the singer's moist breath bounce of his skin. They remained silent until it dawned upon Murdoc that 2D was waiting for him to reveal what could only be said in private.

When he made promises, the bassist didn't go back on them.

"I had an aunt, my dad's lil' sister, who was born albino." Murdoc began. The first part of this story was the easier half. It was, as far as Murdoc saw it, strictly clinical. He voiced his explanation as such. "That means she was born without any natural color, you know, skin pigments and whatnot. Normal people got those, uh, irises. Irises bounce light back. So like, Noodle's eyes are brown because her irises are brown. Get it? Since she had no color, her eyes were red. Instead of bouncing light, the light shines through her iris, showing the blood inside her eyes." He frowned, and forced himself to say: "I took after her."

Lifting his right hand up, 2D touched Murdoc's left cheek and ran his thumb beneath his red eye. Briefly, Murdoc's body became ramrod tight. However, the cool touch of 2D's palm and thumb, the way his singer was looking at him the way no one in his life had, and the way 2D's pliant body enveloped him like a blanket dispelled the tension that had seized him. When Murdoc made no move to show displeasure, 2D asked the inevitable question he was afraid to answer. "But then, why aren't _both_ your eyes red?"

'Incest' was the first word that came into Murdoc's head, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He might drink, smoke, fuck numerous women, violently burst out, swear shamelessly, and hurt people he both cared for and hated without embarrassment, but the truth about where he came from and the history of his family was more than enough to make him want to clam-up and hide. Insofar as common principle went, Murdoc was not supposed to exist. The way his 'mother' and older 'brothers' had treated him as a child made that perfectly clear.

While all this clamored angrily in his head, 2D waited for him patiently and kept his ears open. In a leap of faith, Murdoc knew he had no choice but to believe his singer wouldn't pull away from him in disgust.

"You know… " He started uneasily. "How some cats have different colored eyes?"

"Yeah?"

"They're like that because they're inbred. It's a genetic defect." Murdoc acknowledged there was a certain irony to having had the balls to ram raid a store and yet be incapable of saying what he had too. Still refusing to be straightforward, Murdoc chose the art of inference. "I guess you can say the same goes with me."

2D scowled in thought. "But that'd mean-"

Inference worked. The singer's jaw snapped shut with an audible 'click.' Yes. That's right, Stupot. My dad did his sister, when she was bedridden in her own room. He touched her. He kissed her. He went inside her and heard her moan.

I'm a living mistake.

As if he heard the thought, 2D shook his head and dragged his touch from Mudoc's face toward Murdoc's thin waist. The singer's hand settled there and did not budge. The prolonged quiet signaled to the bassist that his band mate there was more.

Murdoc cleared his throat and tried to himself from blinking so rapidly. His eyes stung, but there were no tears. He must have cried them out the day his mother could not stand him anymore and told Murdoc exactly what he was.

"My real mum, my 'aunt,' wasn't exactly the healthiest woman on earth." He choked-out. "She died just a few weeks after I was born. Big scandal, that." The ends of his fingers twitched fretfully. Needing a place to go, they went for 2D's hair and began to fondle the downy strands. "But for all the fucked-up things he did, my father did… love… his sister. He took me in when I was an infant and asked his wife to adopt me. She did, but… I knew I was the bane of her existence. My older brothers knew it too." Laughing dryly, he tried to poke fun at himself. "Never fit in with 'em. Too ugly."

"You're not ugly, Murdoc." 2D mumbled against his chest. "Don't say that."

He glanced down at him with a quirked-up eyebrow. 2D returned the gesture with a sleepy stare. "Then what am I, hm? You can't say I'm handsome. That's a load of twat."

A cozy lassitude crept over 2D as Murdoc continued to play with his hair. Not really knowing what he was doing, the singer's fingers fiddled around with the button at the top of Murdoc's black shirt. "I don't have the words. You just _are_." Recalling the word Murdoc had used while they were listening to an LP, 2D chuckled. "…You're organic…"

A crack of a grin broke on Murdoc's face, and it quickly shattered into an all out smile. He really couldn't believe it when he felt it.

"You should smile more." 2D wrapped his other arm around Murdoc's torso and held on tight. "You look young when you smile."

Murdoc said nothing to that, but one of his hands drifted onto the small of his singer's back. They stayed this way for hours, but the bassist didn't notice.

"D…?" He whispered. Alas, the singer's eyes were softly shut and his lips were barely parted in sleep. Murdoc sighed. "Great."

He wanted to move so he could start driving home, but the bassist found himself trapped when he realized moving would lull 2D out of sleep. The young man looked terribly vulnerable when he slept. Like a child, 2D seemed helpless and breakable. Instinctively, the more animal part of Murdoc shielded his singer's body with his arms and legs. Closing his eyes, he listened to the other's light breathing and felt the subtle pound of 2D's peaceful heart against his chest.

Ever so tentatively, Murdoc brushed the few strands away from his mate's brow and pressed his lips against 2D's damp forehead. "Goodnight, Stuart."


	7. Chapter 7: Stoke

"Half-Life"

Chapter Seven – Stoke

Rating: PG-13 to NC-17

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Notes: I didn't proof-read chapter 6 before posting it on the community! I took a look at it today and found so many sentences with missing words, unnecessary words, and words in the wrong places! So sorry, I will clean it up.

It was winter, but he had flowers in his hand. They were not expensive, for they were close to wilting. A shabby piece of newspaper held them together. He hoped she would find them beautiful.

He opened the door to his flat and climbed up the flight of stairs. The high ceilings made the sound of his thundering boots echo. When he reached the door, he searched for his keys and unlocked it. The door, covered in old, white paint chipping with age, creaked open.

All was silent.

"Claire!" He called, and his own voice shouted back to him. "Elizabeth!" He shouted again, but still no answer but his echo. "I'm home!"

He set the flowers on a rickety table and walked down the hall. The walls were whispering. They were coated in dust. Here and there was a long spiraling crack.

This was his home.

Pushing open the door to his daughter's room, he found that nothing was there. Not the baby. Not the crib. Not the rocking chair. When he turned on his heel, his toe tapped something and caused it to rattle. Looking down, he saw it: little Elizabeth's yellow rattle.

That was all she left.

He backed out of the room, panicked, and burst into the master's bedroom. The first thing he saw was the giant window, framed by tattered, cream colored drapes. It was open. Some snow drifted from the ledge and onto the floor.

It was cold.

He went up to the window to close it, when he discovered Claire's wedding ring sitting on top of a battered dresser. Picking it up, he held it in between his rough fingers and sat on his and his wife's bed: a mattress on the floor, and nothing else.

The tiny diamond shimmered in the ivory light. Plain, but colorful, inexpensive, but priceless- it was not much, but it was good enough to keep.

But that was all she left.

The ring fell from his fingertips, and landed on the creaky wooden floor with a loud 'ping!' He watched as the jewel rolled away from him and out the door. He stood up suddenly.

"No!" He shouted. "Don't go!"

Frantically, he chased the ring. It went everywhere and led him every which way. Down the hallway, around the kitchen, through the corridor, and into the living room. He chased after the little ring with his knees bent and his back hunched over. He looked quite silly, but he did not care.

Rolling, rolling, rolling. Rolling, rolling, rolling. It was not long before he started to cry quietly, but he did not stop chasing it in his empty home.

At last the ring rolled under a closed door- through a slight crevice separating it from the floor. Standing up, he laid his hand upon the copper doorknob and turned.

There, sitting in the middle of the room on his haunches with the wedding ring laying before him, was Midnight.

"Muds! Muds! Wake-up!" 2D hissed as he shook his trembling friend.

The singer first woke when he felt Murdoc jerk in his sleep. He dismissed it at first, but then the bassist started moaning: 'No! Don't go!' 2D had been shaking Murdoc, trying to get him awake, for the past five minutes. But Murdoc didn't respond. Instead, he continued sweating profusely, shivering, and sobbing without tears.

His friend turned his head left and right, and 2D tried to keep him still by holding onto both sides of his face. "Murdoc, please… You got to wake-up!" He all but begged.

2D began to cry. He had never seen the bassist like this before, and it made the singer scared for him. Whatever distress Murdoc was feeling, he desperately wanted to make it stop. Without thinking twice, he pressed his lips hard against him. "It's okay…" he whispered, his lips brushing lightly on Murdoc's. "It's okay. It's just a dream."

He kissed him again, opening his mouth slightly and tugging on his band mate's bottom lip. Beneath him, Murdoc stopped moving and released a stifled cry. 2D felt Murdoc's lips quivering. Carefully moving away, he looked down. His friend had opened his eyes.

They looked at one another for a long moment, and with barely any distance between them. A heavy intensity locked their eyes together. There was an energy- white hot like a torch- that channeled through their invisible conduit.

Lifting his head, Murdoc hesitantly kissed 2D back.

It was only a small touch, but it left the singer's lips humming and warm. Holding onto Murdoc's shoulders, he bent down and returned the kiss.

When he backed away, there was another pause.

And then Murdoc gave it back.

They passed their touch to one another slowly, back and forth until the feeling got warmer and hotter and their lips became pliant and moist. Raising his hand, the bassist wrapped his fingers in 2D's hair. He held him close. He breathed his breath in. He kissed him again, and hoped for more.

2D held onto Murdoc's free hand. His thumb moved across his band mate's hard knuckles- tickling them and softening them. Closing his eyes, he let the tip of his tongue run along Murdoc's lips. It was a silent request to be allowed inside.

Without meaning too, Murdoc gasped and slacked his jaw. 2D slid in and moved his tongue delicately. At first, the bassist could do nothing but feel 2D explore his mouth. He didn't know what to do, but 2D had started rubbing his thigh encouragingly, and he found the courage to lift his tongue.

They finally came together in a wet, loving brush.

Shifting around, Murdoc didn't notice that his body was laying flat against the car seat. 2D hovered over him, depositing his mouth over his again and again. Hands falling from his friend's hair, they traveled along 2D's writhing back and cupped around his bottom. His legs shuffled, bending their knees and sandwiching the singer's thighs in between his.

Briefly, they stopped for air. In that time, Murdoc appreciated 2D's face. He stared at his eyes, admired the shine off the edge of his lips, and enjoyed the pleasant flush dashed across his cheeks.

This was better than coming home.

The corner of 2D's lips twitched into that same, shy grin he had given Murdoc the night of their concert. Moving forward, he laid his lips upon the bassist's brow. He felt his friend sigh, blowing hot air against his exposed throat. 2D gasped when that throat was kissed and leisurely –_achingly_-sucked on.

He groaned, and Murdoc had to hold him in place by encircling his narrow hips with his arms. Anchoring him down, he lapped at 2D's neck. The singer's eyelids fluttered. The small, tender strokes were velvety and timid.

A twist of raw desire twisted hard inside him. 2D craned his head down and took Murdoc's ministrations back into his mouth.

The pace quickened then. Their lips opened and closed, and their heads tilted from side to side. Their hearts raced, threatening to explode from their chests. It made them dizzy- intoxicated. They said nothing in the car. The only sounds that filled it were their ragged breathing, their sighs, their kisses, and the faint rustling of their clothing.

Murdoc broke away to kiss the top of 2D's eyelids and the place where his nose bridge began. He dragged his lips down from his brow to the top of the singer's nose. He kissed there again- at the very tip. A damp trail was left behind.

2D's body shook, but he couldn't keep himself from nipping at Murdoc's chin. In response, the bassist turned his head slightly, revealing a vulnerable earlobe. 2D nipped at that too.

He rolled from under his singer and pulled him along. Together, they lay on their sides, facing one another with their lips locked together- hard and frantic.

Something was knocking on their window. They didn't notice it until they heard someone's muffled voice.

"The lot's closing!" The agitated voice said. "Get your car out of here!"

Shocked, 2D and Murdoc quickly disengaged. A light shined through. They could see the silhouette of the security guard holding a flashlight. Composing himself, Murdoc rolled down the window.

"You heard what I said?" The security guard went on. "You better-" He stopped in mid-sentence, noticing just _who_ he was talking to and the physical state he was in. The security guard slapped his forehead and chuckled jovially. "Murdoc Niccals? Holy shit! If I'd've known it was you-"

The bassist really couldn't hear what he was saying. The frame of his body and his teeth were rattling with lust and pleasure. 2D was hardly different.

"-saw you during your tour through Sussex. Bloody amazing, man. Sorry to interrupt your…" The babbling trailed off and the content expression on the security guard's face gave way to surprise. His flashlight had flashed over 2D, who was every bit as flushed, trembling, and horrified as the person next to him. The security guard's jaw slowly closed. He swallowed uncertainly. "It's uh… It's time to go now. Be so kind as to bring your car down to the booth. You got your validation?"

Murdoc had the presence of mind to nod.

The guard politely nodded back although he was clearly uncomfortable. "All right. You two have a good night."

At first, they were glued to their seats. It was Murdoc, however, who finally found his nerves and forced himself to move behind the wheel. 2D followed suit.

They couldn't look at each other, and they didn't touch. It was three o'clock in the morning when they had started their long drive home. No music was played. No word was exchanged. It was as though a giant, invisible wall had been erected between them.

Neither liked it.

The Geep rolled unceremoniously into its parking space in the car park. When the bassist shut off the engine, he stayed where he was. 2D looked at him, worried. He wanted more than anything to touch Murdoc on the shoulder, but he didn't know where he stood with the man.

"Murdoc…" 2D started cautiously, his voice sounding so insignificant. "Are we okay?"

He looked away from the white wall he was staring at and redirected his attention to his singer. There was fear there. It was difficult not to see it. Murdoc tried to smile, but it came out sad and exhausted. "We're fine, Stu." He said quietly. To prove he meant it, he placed his palm over the top of 2D's hand. "Go to sleep, I'll come in later."

Still unsure, but not wanting to push his luck, 2D opened the door, stepped out, and closed the door behind him. He was already a meter away from the car when his feet quit moving. Turning around, 2D found that Murdoc was, once again, staring vacantly at the wall. Summoning his will, 2D spoke-up.

"By the way…" He began. Murdoc visibly jerked and turned to look at him. The singer clasped his hands together, refusing to wring them in front of the person he had kissed so full-heartedly. "I- I had a good time tonight…" There was an internal war inside him, but 2D quelled the arguing voices and asked what he had to. "Maybe we could do it again?"

It was almost unnoticeable, but 2D had spent enough time with Murdoc to know when his face softened.

"Sure."

It was a simple answer. It made the both of them feel more at ease.

The singer smiled. "Great."

Kicking the ground playfully, the singer swung on his heel and headed for his room. Murdoc watched him leave, and as soon as the door shut behind him, breathed out deeply. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Instead of going into 2D's room, however, he entered the lobby and went up to the main kitchen.

There, he washed his face in the sink. His arms braced against the metal basin, and water dripped from his grungy hair.

What am I doing, what am I doing, what am I doing? I sleep with him like a brother, but I kissed him like- No. I won't think that. It's been too long. I'm getting old. I don't wanna die in the Winnebago. I can't fucking say 'no.' It's not gonna work, is it? Nothing I do ever works. The band works. That's something. Claire and Elizabeth. The band works because Claire and Elizabeth didn't. What's the goddamn price tag now? What's it gonna be? FuckmeFuckmeFuck_me_. Nightmares with empty apartments and dogs with my brain why can't it all just blow the fuck up and leave me alone I hate this every time there's always a price to pay every time why can't it all just be forever and free…

The words blended and spun and crammed into his already overflowing mind. He would drink, but he did not want to forget how 2D made him feel. He would smoke, but he had no matches.

I wish I had a gun.

He started dry heaving into the sink.

Through the doorway, Noodle silently stepped in wearing her silk pajamas and Totoro slippers. She had woken-up feeling thirsty, but upon entering the corridor, she heard the sink running followed by the sound of someone doing his best to vomit. As she approached Murdoc, she laid her cool hand on his sweaty back. "You have been drinking too much again, Murdoc-san?"

Her sweet, young voice penetrated the cacophony that only he could hear but she could not. Getting a hold of himself, he shook his head but continued to dry heave. Noodle winced. It looked excruciating.

"Can I get you anything?" The girl asked, having sympathy for the all-to-frequently irritable man.

Once more, he shook his head. Nevertheless, the blooming teenager did not leave his side. She stood behind him, sensing that Murdoc was not ready to be left alone and refusing to depart unless properly dismissed. All the while, Murdoc's thoughts slowed down and began to sort themselves. The thought that was at the forefront of his mind was the idea of blowing up his memories. He could do that very easily with the caliber, but the bassist had made the foolish mistake of inadvertently entrusting his life in 2D's hands.

That settled it. He knew what to do.

"Noodle," Murdoc said her name gruffly. "Do me a favor..."

The Japanese girl was all ears- attentive. "What is it, Murdoc-san?"

"Tell Russell that I won't be here for the next few days. Probably a week, I don't know."

She looked at him as though she could see _through_ him. It made the bassist feel defenseless. When Noodle spoke, it was non-judgmental and matter-of-fact. "You have unfinished business?"

The question, which was really articulated like a statement, was too accurate a description for comfort. "Yes." Murdoc replied. "You can say that. Tell Russell it's- it's important. Make him understand I'm not playing games."

"Very well." Moving away from him since he had ceased hacking, she retrieved a glass from a cupboard and filled it with water from the fridge. "I will request Damon and Jamie to move our meeting to next week. I am sure they will understand."

"Thanks." He began heading for the car park, when Murdoc remembered something else. "Oh, Noodle…"

Pulling the full glass away from her lips, Noodle glanced at him. "Yes?"

"Tell Russell 2D might come with me."

Noddle nodded. She figured as much.

Click. Switch. Blow.

Click. Switch. Blow.

Click. Switch. Blow.

Murdoc played around with his silver lighter in 2D's room while sitting on a chair and watching his band mate sleep. He could not go to bed with him, not when he was too unhinged to even shut his eyes.

Click. Switch. Blow.

Click. Switch. Blow.

"…Muuurdoc…" 2D purred in his sleep. Murdoc's head shot up in time to see the singer gather the bassist's pillow in his arms and bury his face deep within it. Contentedly, 2D breathed-in his scent and exhaled. "…Mmm…happy…."

All of a sudden, he felt less wary about what he was going to do.

Click. Switch. Blow.

It dawned on him that whatever this was, he wanted it very much.

The digital clock sitting on 2D's nightstand rotated from 7:59AM to 8:00AM. Murdoc had been eying it. As soon as the numbers had changed, he rose from the chair, pocketed the lighter, and made for his friend's bed. Sitting along the edge, he put his hand on 2D's shoulder and squeezed gently.

2D whined and rolled away from him.

The mean side of him thought it would be fun to pull at the blanket brusquely and watch 2D roll out and hit the ground. The evil side of him, on the other hand, thought it would be fun to catch his singer off guard.

Murdoc adored evil.

Straddling 2D, he bent down low and lifted the sheets. Finding the end of his band mate's t-shirt, he lifted it up and placed his fingers along 2D's exposed ribcage. It rather disturbed Murdoc that it wasn't until now that he noticed how soft and pale his friend's skin was. He had better start his initial plan now before he decided to do something entirely different.

He strummed 2D.

"_Yah!_"

He flailed like a banked fish and tumbled out of bed. Murdoc caught him without thinking about it.

"Jeez, mate? What was that for?" 2D remained in the bassist's outspread arms. His legs hung over Murdoc's left elbow while his neck was supported with Murdoc's right.

"Morning call." The bassist smirked, but he finished more seriously, "I want to take you somewhere."

Standing up, he set the singer down. 2D held onto his messy blankets. They draped about him like a makeshift robe. "Where?"

"Stoke." Murdoc answered curtly. He began moving about the room, searching for 2D's traveling bag. "There's something I need to show you."

Given his somber tone, 2D asked no questions and immediately realized that something was up. He removed his duffle bag from under his bed.

Having packed several changes of clothes, cigarettes, and matches into their duffle bags, 2D and Murdoc requested a taxi to drop them off at the train station since it would be faster than car. Upon buying tickets to Stoke on Trent, which is located in the West Midlands of England, the two waited at platform five. When the call was made, they loaded into the train and sat in their chairs. It would be more than a two hour ride since they were leaving from Essex. Had they been in London, the travel would have been no more than ninety minutes.

Bored with watching the blur of colors fly past his window, 2D reached into his pocket and removed his switch knife. The blade popped out of the stainless steel handle- quick as an eye blink. The blade carried light along its edge and reflected 2D's black eyes with its spine.

Murdoc observed the singer's fascination with the object. In his own hand, he held the apple he had stolen from the train station. The bassist was about to take a bite, when he decided to let his curiosity get the better of him. He lowered the apple.

"Where'd you get the knife, Stupot?"

"My granddad." 2D replied, momentarily glancing at Murdoc before returning his vision to the weapon. "Fought in World War II, he did. After the Germans bombed London to the ground, granddad was out for blood. His cousins died in the fray, see. Taught him everythin' he knew about flyin.'" He held the knife horizontally and made it zoom around in the air- an imaginary airplane. "But when he suited-up, England deployed him to Japan to fight with the Americans. His plane went down in a nasty dogfight, so he said before he died. Didn't crash without taking the Japan pilot down with 'em. In the end, this knife saved his life. Slit the soldier's throat." 2D made a slicing motion with the blade held away from him. "Won a medal for that, but granddad wasn't proud of it. He'd rather had used this to cut-up fruit."

The bassist tossed his apple from his right hand to his left. "Can I see it?"

Nodding, the singer handed the object- quite literally an antique- to him. He flipped the knife around with his fingers so the handle would be facing Murdoc rather than the blade.

Now holding the knife, Murdoc pressed its edge against the apple's surface and started cutting away from him. When he was done, he had the apple perfectly halved. Looking up, he handed the knife and the apple slice back to 2D.

2D grinned. "Thanks."

He bit into the slice.

By the time they gotten off their train and checked into their hotel, it was already close to noon. The trip had been too monotonous for both of their tastes. For the first forty or so minutes, Murdoc and 2D got along fine chatting about pop culture, current events, and life at Kong Studios. When they ran out of things to discuss and argue about, they slept –however uncomfortably- in their chairs. If they couldn't sleep, one way or another they would wound-up daydreaming. Neither of them asked what the other was thinking about.

Considering last night, it was perhaps too soon.

When the train stopped at the station, they unloaded their bags from their respective compartments, pushed through the thick crowd, and hailed a taxi. Once they were given the key card to their room, the two of them dropped everything off, about faced, and went to the lounge for some quick sandwiches. Through it all, 2D was tired and more than a little bit harried.

At present, Murdoc was in the lobby filling out papers for the rental car. 2D waited uncomplainingly, sitting in one of the armchairs. Up to this point, Murdoc had still not explained to him why they were having this spur-of-the-moment road-trip. The questions that clouded his mind kept 2D from being his usually cheerful self.

He had his head leaning against his right fist, and his eyelids were drooping. Of course, 2D knew that the moment he drifted off, Murdoc would tap him on the shoulder, shake him, or god forbid tickle him awake. This was why his ears remained sharp while the rest of his body took five. He was counting on the sound of Murdoc's boots to alert him when it was time to go. Sure enough, after seven or ten minutes of more sitting, he heard that distinct 'click-clack,' 'click-clack' that approached his direction. Opening his eyes and glancing to his left, 2D saw Murdoc swinging a ring of keys in his hand.

"Ready?"

2D grimaced, knowing he didn't really have a choice. His dampened mood brightened when Murdoc offered his hand to help him up.

He was, after all, a man who took to small pleasures such as friendly touches and butterscotch.

The car they had rented was a typical European car: compact and efficient. Murdoc drove around fifty minutes northwest from their departure point. 2D was impressed with everything he saw out his window. Stoke was so different from the local town he lived in, in Crawley. Crawley, as it was, is a small area in southeast England, Sussex. Although the area itself was full of modern urban life, complete with a megaplex cinema, the Hawth theatre, and the Broadfield Stadium, 2D's family didn't have the means to live in the inner city. Living in Crawley was expensive, and so 2D had spent most of his childhood in a suburban town that recalled Horly, Surrey. Stoke was also bustling with urban life, but the tone of the neighbordhood was drastically different. It felt stressful- too fast-paced and wired for him to enjoy. There were art galas, pottery displays, snooty cafes, and universities in almost every direction 2D looked.

But as they continued drive, the area started to deteriorate. Buildings transformed from pristine to dilapidated. Roads went from smooth to punctured with potholes. Anyone who was out and walking about had a shifty look in their eye, as if they were doing something illicit or weren't about to trust the next person who looked at them. Above all, there was overhanging air of despair that was so heavy it felt suffocating.

This, 2D learned, was Murdoc's home.

Their car stopped in the middle of the road. Murdoc turned on the signal light to show he was about to parallel park. The singer glanced around him. On his side of the car, he saw a small building that was falling apart from the seams. There were wooden boards nailed over the broken windows and rotting doors. The foundation, at least as far as 2D could tell, was made of cement and brick. There was stoop leading to the main entrance- it was covered in graffiti- and the rest of the building seemed to be made of wood alone. No one had lived here in _years_.

Stepping out their car, Murdoc led the way. He skipped up the cement steps and kicked the door. Some wood splintered against the lock, but other than that it was easy to break in. They walked inside.

The first thing 2D did was look up. From the outside, the building didn't look at all that tall, but from the inside, the spiraling staircase that flew up three flights elongated the walls.

"Eighteen years ago," Murdoc said. "This was where I lived and raised a family."

A chill went down 2D's spine as he took in his band mate's words. There was history here. There were stories and secrets kept hidden within the aged paint and crumbling walls. Everything here was once, a long time ago, touched by a Murdoc who was much younger than 2D himself.

It was surreal.

They proceeded to climb up the staircase. The steps creaked beneath their weight, and as they passed the second floor, 2D became increasingly concerned that the steps would give way from beneath him. Subconsciously, he held onto the rot iron railing for reassurance, but was immediately repulsed by the wet, red-orange rust that stained his entire palm.

Rubbing his dirty hand against his pants, he followed Murdoc along the corridor of the third floor. They stopped at room 303.

Fingers twitching, the bassist clasped his hand around the doorknob, turned, and forced the entryway open. The hinges had rusted over, and it was difficult to move the door. Murdoc suspected it was from the constant, unattended to leaking from the rain. At least that much hadn't changed since he left.

A whirl of dust blew upon their entrance. 2D covered his nose. The flat smelt of turpentine and dirt.

"This is the living room. See, it's directly connected to kitchen." Murdoc explained. "We never had much in here, not even a TV." Anxiously, he chewed on his lip and nodded. "But we had a rug, though. We had a rug."

2D's brow furrowed. "_We_?"

"My wife, Claire, and I. We also had a two year-old girl. Name's Elizabeth." His band mate reported the information like he would the weather. It did not escape 2D's notice that Murdoc could not look at him as he said it.

The singer did his best to absorb what the bassist was telling him objectively. He tried not to pay attention to the fact his knees had locked-up in shock.

Murdoc pointed to the hall to 2D's left. "That leads to the two bedrooms. The master's and the nursery- or what was a nursery." He paused to clear his throat. "The two rooms are joined by one bathroom. You can, uh, enter it from either side."

Walking down the short hallway, the bassist guided 2D through Elizabeth's room, the adjoining bathroom, and the bedroom he and Claire shared that was also connected to it. The bottom of their shoes scratched loudly in the deserted flat. When 2D looked down, he discovered that there was a sandy, papery substance on the floor. Glancing up, it turned out the substance was decaying plaster that was raining from the ceiling.

Upon reaching the master's bedroom, Murdoc sat down on the mattress- the same mattress he slept on when he was young- that was lying in the middle of the floor. It was spotted with yellow and brown stains that came from the leaks, and it smelled something awful. 2D couldn't stop himself from scrunching up his nose. The scent reminded him of old garbage that had been left out in the rain.

It didn't seem to bother Murdoc.

"I am going to tell you this story only once, Stuart," finally, he looked at 2D directly when he said this. "So you better pay attention to me."

Nodding, 2D looked for a place to sit. Of course, there was nothing in the room- not even a crate- to help him with that. He also did not want to sit on the mattress. Not only was it unhygienic, but there was also a certain tragedy about it given that Murdoc and his wife had slept there. Out of respect, he didn't feel it his place to be remotely close to it. Unwrapping the sweater he had tied around his waist, 2D dropped it on the grimy floor and sat on it. Once he was settled, Murdoc began.

"I've told you before that I worked at an autoshop during high school to buy a car. You later asked me why I kept working there after. Well, I'll tell you." Knowing all-to-well that this would be a tedious story, Murdoc lifted his legs and crossed them. "I married Claire when I was twenty. Wedlock. At the time I dropped out of college, so I had to support us with the only job I had. With Elizabeth born in the middle of our first year together, money was tight and Claire had to work two shifts at a local café to make-up the difference. She worked mornings and evenings. I worked all afternoon. There was always someone to watch over little Lizzy. I had made that a point."

He sighed shakily. This was only the beginning. Talking about it made the images in Murdoc's head that much clearer. Without warning, he remembered things he thought he had forgotten or were a figment of his imagination. Every morning, at seven-thirty sharp, Claire would get out of bed to get dressed for work: a red, pinstriped dress with an apron and cap. The traditional waitressing fair. Her light movements would rouse him out of sleep. While she dressed, Murdoc went into the nursery to check on Elizabeth. She was darling little girl with her father's thick, black hair, and her mother's curls and deep blue eyes. Neither of them knew yet whose nose Lizzy would inherit. Both of them joked that they were hoping she'd get her mother's.

Claire would give him a quick peck on the cheek before she rushed out to catch the city bus. Then Murdoc's first shift as father began. He changed Lizzy's nappies, fed the poor girl the best baby food he could afford, played with her, kissed her belly and blew raspberries, gave her baths…

Murdoc swallowed and squeezed his eyes. He remembered when his daughter first learned to walk and followed him all day. When she would lose balance, Lizzy would grab the back of his calf for support. He would pat her head and ruffle her curls.

She had such soft, wonderful hair.

He was so foolish.

"But I began missing my first lover, my guitar. I gave-up playing her the day I got hitched." His voice cracked. "Life was hard. I couldn't even drive Claire to work or pick-her up. We didn't have a car. Couldn't afford it. When Elizabeth turned one, I stopped shagging my wife and started touching my bass again. Somewhere along the line, I said: 'Fuck this!' and quit my job."

At the time, he thought he was being reasonable. Now, with forty years behind him, Murdoc couldn't believe his own naiveté.

"Been tryin' to form a band- pursue my dreams for once, you know what I mean?" It was horrible excuse, and he almost laughed at himself for it. "Claire didn't say anything. She put up with my booze and my cigarettes until Elizabeth became two. High-tailed then. She left with my daughter the day I wanted to make a turn-around. Bought a pathetic bouquet of flowers too." Murdoc paused. 2D reached out and touched his knee. "Had no one to give them to by the time I got home."

That had been a 'hollow' day, as the bassist could best describe it. After months of failing at putting together a group with sufficient talent, Murdoc began noticing how little attention he had been paying Claire and his child. Claire had become distant, faded, and burned-out. Elizabeth, who had a hopeful spark in her eye, lost her energy and played quietly by herself.

So, pulling the strings to his bass one last time, he put the instrument away and began looking for another job in downtown. There was a second rate shoe store hiring, and he immediately applied. The meeting with the manager had gone smoothly, and before Murdoc knew it his first shift started the following Monday.

Pleased with himself for the first time in months, and wanting to show Claire that he could be responsible, Murdoc spent the last of his pocket money on a shoddy handful of flowers a vendor was selling along their street. 'It's going to be okay.' He thought to himself with a smile. 'It's going to be okay.'

Finding his home empty and abandoned, Murdoc lost all feeling.

There was no substance in him anymore. The air had been beaten out of him. He was no better than the state of his flat.

Hollow.

"I wandered around." Murdoc doggedly continued. "Dealing crack and inhaling it. Don't know what happened those eight or so years. My family disowned me at one point. Forget when. Dad was tired of pullin' me out of prison. Don't blame him."

He snorted, trying to brush it off. 2D didn't buy it. Drawing closer to the bassist, he moved his hand away from Murdoc's knee and placed his head there instead. The small, welcoming weight on his lap loosened the bassist's jaw and disentangled his tongue. The rest came out like music. Flowing. Unadulterated. Whole.

"Then, on my thirty-first birthday, I received a letter in the mail. It was fancy. Nice envelop. Pretty handwriting. I was crazy enough to believe Claire had written to give us a second chance. Turned out to be an invitation to her funeral. She died, literally, of a broken heart. She had a hole in her left ventricle. There was a complication during surgery and… that was that. Elizabeth wrote it all down in ink. Guess my daughter didn't forget about me after all." He breathed in. "Couldn't get myself to cry, but I had to do something. Was at the end of my rope, what could I lose? I snuck down to the autoshop I used to work for and stole a 1991 Vauxhall Astra. It's an ugly ass car, but at the time I thought it was lovely. Perfect for a family, you know?"

Dealing with the truth was never one of Murdoc's strong points. To cope with it he had three choices: drink, smoke, or laugh it off. Since the first two were not handy, he could do nothing but go with the third.

No one laughed.

Eyes watering, Murdoc sighed and said weakly: "I think you know the rest."

"Yeah…" 2D replied. He looked up from his position on the ground. "I met you."

Later, the two men stood at the doorway of room 303. 2D turned to Murdoc, whose poise was akin to an angry, miserable statue.

"Are you sure you wanna do this, Muds?" He asked.

His friend gave him a single nod. Rummaging through his pockets, the singer produced his book of matches. He was about to tear a stick out, when Murdoc abruptly grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"Wait." The bassist said. "Don't- don't waste it."

At those familiar words, the words that had started it all, 2D smiled. "It's okay." He gently pushed Murdoc's arm down and tore the stick out. "_My_ match."

Striking the head against the book, a flame burst. 2D threw the match in the middle of the living room, where they had collected newspaper and balled them up on the floor. There was a trail of gasoline starting from it and leading a circle around the flat. The newspapers ignited violently upon contact.

They ran out the door.

Outside, on a road several blocks away, but close enough to the burning building to keep it in sight, Murdoc and 2D sat inside their car smoking. Flat 303 was ablaze in a monstrous glory of red, orange, and gold. It was, indeed, the brightest, most marvelous sight in the neighborhood.

At this moment, a silent tear trailed down Murdoc's right cheek. Joining it was another tear running down Murdoc's left. Bringing the cigarette in between his fingers to his lips, the bassist told himself it was only the smoke.

And perhaps it was, for that was everything his past had turned into.

He didn't quite know if he was happy or sad.

"Murdoc?"

"Hm?"

2D tossed his cigarette butt out the window. "This time of year in Crawley, the leaves are turning. It's- it's really beautiful." He did not mean to start talking when Murdoc obviously wanted some peace. Yet, the singer thought it would do his best mate good to see something that wasn't so gray or old or sorrowful. "Do you think we can go down and see it?"

At first, the bassist continued to puff his cigarette. Leaves, he thought absently. There aren't many falling leaves in Stoke. Not any that are worth looking at, at any rate.

"Yeah…" Murdoc replied, nodding while rubbing the wetness from his eyes. "Yeah… I think we _can_."

They watched in silence as the fire continued to burn. Murdoc's right hand was hanging free to his side. 2D saw it. He did not hesitate to take it into his.

Murdoc did not let go.


	8. Chapter 8: Crawley

"Half-Life"

Chapter Eight- Crawley

By: Bettina Elvina

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Rating: NC-17

Notes: IMPORTANT, this chapter has been edited to fit criteria (in other words, the sex has been removed). To read the full version of this chapter, go here to my livejournal, open my memories, and click on Half-Life. The chapters should all be archived.

He turned on the shower and let it run cold. It was five forty-six in the morning, a dreadful hour to be awake and bathing. Murdoc had had another dream, but this one he could not remember as clearly as the others. It was not a nightmare, but the feeling of it made him ill at ease.

When he woke-up, 2D was lying still beside him, blanket draped loosely over his shoulder. Murdoc lifted it and tucked him in before sliding out of their bed. Kindness was not his virtue. Over-protectiveness, possessiveness, and selfishness, on the other hand, were.

Never let it be said that Satanists do not have desirable qualities.

Padding to the hotel bathroom, Murdoc dropped his boxers and shut the door behind him. By nature, the bassist was not one concerned with basic hygiene, but the sheath of sweat that covered him every time he woke-up in this condition had to be removed. As the icy water beat-down on his head, Murdoc leaned against the tiled wall and tried to piece the images together.

There were children- five of them- with ruby, red hair and ocean blue eyes.

There was distant laughter.

There was a sunset.

There was a man, who looked to be in his prime, who cried silently as he smiled.

There was a path, a long, wide road that kept going and going, which was flanked on both sides by a boundless forest of spring green trees.

Murdoc walked down that road and met the sun.

Someone called his name from behind.

The dream ended there.

For a reason he simply could not grasp, Murdoc was certain he would one day walk down that road he had never been on before. Far from a superstitious man, he did not believe dreams meant anything beyond the subconscious. Yet he wasn't about to make any absurd interpretations himself. That was not the bassist's style.

If only he could make the images stop eating away at the back of his mind.

Returning to the bedroom, Murdoc pulled-down his side of the covers and climbed in. On his back, he stared at the ceiling and thought about what to do with his sleeping situation. The singer had become a part of a systematic ritual before turning in for the day. Since their little escapade with the marijuana, evenings wound-down to a close with one or two hours of idle conversation, a quick change of clothes, and sliding into the same bed. The lights would go out. They would talk for another half-hour or more. Then, as if Murdoc had silently requested it, 2D would turn on his side and wrap his long arm about his waist.

The bassist could never fall asleep until that final step. He thought himself a fool for not reading into the implications sooner. The incident in the car was the only thing that finally bought Murdoc a clue.

His hand gripped the sheets. Oh no, Murdoc had better not think about that now.

As if hearing his errant thoughts, 2D yawned. "You didn't used to be this way."

The quiet voice in the room suddenly made the world a good measure smaller. Rubbing his eyes and pinching his nose bridge, Murdoc returned with: "What way?"

"That thing people have." 2D continued to whisper. "You know, when they can't sleep when they want to."

"Insomnia." The bassist found the word for him immediately. "You mean insomnia."

He could sense 2D nodding. "Yeah. That's it. You wanna try some of my sleeping pills? They help you relax."

Considering the offer for a moment, Murdoc declined. "Too late. Or early. Whatever. We've gotta check-out in a few hours anyway."

After destroying flat number 303, the two of them had stayed in Stoke for an additional three days. Time and money was spent hopping from one bar to the next until they were both 'properly' drunk, as Murdoc had coined the description, and ready to spend half an hour each in their room's toilet. After settling their stomachs, it was time for the cigarettes. In one day alone they had gone through six boxes. It wasn't the best way to live, but Murdoc didn't quite know anything else. 2D, meanwhile, was not about to cast any stones. For every bottle of booze Murdoc chugged, 2D was sure to have finished another carton of fags. Simple, thoughtless existence. It was not bad. Every time their lips wrapped around the same bottle or ciggy, they were that much closer to kissing again.

And they ignored, as best they could, the fine detail that they were both men.

It was not a topic either of them had deigned to discuss.

Thus, here they were.

"Doesn't look like you're about to sleep." 2D pointed out. He could tell by Murdoc's breathing and body language that the bassist was wired. "Wanna watch the telly?"

"No."

"A cigarette?"

"No."

In spite of the hour, the singer chuckled. "If you're up at the crack of dawn, you gotta want something, mate."

Chocolate. Coffee. Butterscotch. Silly as it was, these were the things Murdoc thought of first. He wasn't hungry, but these were the things he wished for. He made no mention of it. "What I want is normal sleep. These dreams've gotta stop."

2D moved closer to him, trying to see him in the early-morning darkness. "Are they always bad?"

"No. Sometimes they're just weird." Murdoc replied. "It all started after I told you about Midnight. Don't know why. It's like it opened other stuff in my brain."

The singer could understand that. After 2D recovered from his coma, he had recurring dreams about getting hit by a car. While he was in therapy, the nurses discovered it was challenge to get 2D to walk through streets, crosswalks, or anywhere with busy traffic. Ironically, it was when Murdoc grabbed him violently by the arm, threw him on a wheel chair, and sped him through London did 2D get over his phobia. It was odd. Some part of him, a part that he could not access, remembered Murdoc nursing him while comatose.

"I used to get nightmares a lot too." The singer finally spoke. "They stopped, though."

Murdoc turned to his side, facing him. "When?"

There was an open space between them now. The singer couldn't help, but seize the opportunity to fill that space in and duck beneath Murdoc's chin. His band mate no longer clenched in anxiety when he did so. Instead he felt the hairs at the top of his head ruffle as Murdoc sighed through his nose.

"Recently." He yawned. His jaw sank low enough to touch his own chest. "When you told me-" 2D yawned again. "-I wasn't dumb."

"I should piss off." The bassist grunted. "You're still knackered."

"That's cuz'-" A third yawn. "-we had-" A fourth yawn. "-fun… again."

At that, Murdoc had to grin. Tonight they bought cola and raspberry flavored rum, mixed the two, and drank them as they sped down hills on grocery carts they stole from the supermarket. More than once did a local police officer come to them, and every time Murdoc managed to weasel their way out by offering to sign the traffic tickets that were given to them. The moment the police officers saw his signature, they laughed the ordeal off and tore-up the fine. Such was the power of fame. Idiots.

"We should do that at home." 2D continued, his eyelids sinking by the second. Murdoc noticed.

"Shut-up, Stupot. Close your eyes. We still got two hours."

"But then you'd be alone." 2D complained, clutching Murdoc's shoulder. "…Don't want you… alone."

Though he said nothing, for 2D had already fallen asleep, Murdoc wanted to assure him that he certainly was not alone now. When he processed the sentiment, he cringed. The Satanist was softening, such a shame that it felt as good as it did embarrassing.

By nine in the morning, 2D and Murdoc had gotten dressed and finished their complimentary breakfast on the ground floor of their hotel. By ten, they had arrived by taxi at the train station and hopped a trip for Crawley. The ride, unluckily, would be an even longer journey than their first. Regardless, Murdoc had never seen the singer so excited. He jumped up and down as their train approached, tapped his fingers against the arm rest of his chair incessantly, and babbled on and on about surprising his mum and dad until the bassist's patience was worn to the bone. It had been a while since Murdoc had last told 2D to sod off. The singer was too happy to take offense.

Their first day in the area was spent in a local inn, recovering from travel. The following day, Murdoc rented another car and drove it through Crawley according to 2D's directions. After passing the metropolitan zone, they ventured further and further into the middle-class, residential districts. The houses were modest in size, painted a single color, and clumped together side-by-side. The car rolled to a stop along No. 47, Ashington Lane. Looking out the window, Murdoc saw that 2D's house was two stories tall, complete with porch, gate, and a blue paint job. It struck him as no surprise that the paint was not too far from 2D's shade of hair.

Getting out of their car, the singer opened the gate and ran up the steps to his house. He waited at the porch, still bouncy on his feet, for Murdoc to catch-up. As the bassist walked the short path toward the house, his eyes swiftly did a pass over the environment. On the small lawn were stone garden gnomes, rabbits, and frogs, a fountain that did not operate, but was full of dirty water covered with fallen leaves, and three bicycles chained onto the porch railing. The house, though old, was well kept. Upon setting his feet on the porch floor, Murdoc noted that it was swept clean of dirt and dust. The windows, too, were spotless, and had the homey touch of lace curtains from the inside. To top it all off, wind chimes hung above the front door.

This was nothing at all like Murdoc's home in Stoke.

Smiling from ear to ear, 2D raised his hand and tapped at the door according to his signature: 'tat, tat, tat, tat-tat. Tat! Tat!'

They heard muffled voices from the other side of the door. From the tone, whoever was inside was clearly surprised. Footsteps hitting wooden flooring approached them. At the last minute, 2D glanced at Murdoc and suddenly noticed what was wrapped around the bassist's neck.

"Hey, could you…" He signaled to Murdoc's Satanist necklace.

Not understanding, his band mate frowned. "Could I what?"

The door opened. They both turned their heads and took-in the sight of a small, sweet-looking woman standing beneath the entryway. She wore an antique gold locket about her neck along with a red cardigan and long, denim skirt. Although not young, Murdoc admitted to himself that 2D's mother was very pretty. She had soft, gray-blue hair that stopped at her shoulders and ocean blue eyes. Her posture was erect, and she held her neck up with much grace. The corners of her eyes crinkled upon seeing her son.

"_Stuart?_" She said. Even her voice was quite lovely. The bassist suspected 2D took after his mother. Upon saying his name, she threw her arms around 2D's shoulders and gave a mighty squeeze.

"Mum!" 2D hugged her back affectionately.

"Darling, it's been far too long!"

"But I call you and dad all the time-" While his mother was distracted, he frantically gestured at his band mate's necklace. Murdoc continued to scowl in confusion until the singer mouthed 'Your necklace! Your _necklace_!' while removing one arm away from his mother's back and tugging at an invisible chain around his neck.

"Yes," His mother replied, holding 2D at arm's length when the maternal embrace ended. "But that's not the same as visiting. What a wonderful surprise! Your father and I miss you so much!"

Sensing that she had ignored another presence beside her, the woman turned around. Just in time, Murdoc threw the offensive pendant inside his shirt, hiding it. Mrs. Tusspot's eyes became wide as saucers. Of all the guests her son would bring, she did not expect the man she had only seen in court nearly nine years ago.

"Oh," Mrs. Tusspot began. "Oh my…"

Given the circumstances in which Murdoc was formerly introduced to Mrs. Tusspot, he should have anticipated the awkwardness. Unfortunately, it slipped his mind. Uncomfortable, Murdoc stuffed his hands into his pockets. He mentally debated whether or not it would be wiser to extend a greeting and attempt at being polite or keep his mouth shut. Not having the best etiquette skills in general, Murdoc opted for the latter option. To be fair, he tried to grin shyly. It looked more like an intimidating sneer.

Realizing that Murdoc was in a tight position, 2D covered for him. "We've been on the road. Murdoc took me to see his hometown. It was nice of him, you know… so I thought I could show him where _I_ grew up."

"Is that right." Her voice dropped several notes, and her tone was dipped in the slightest tinge of doubt. Nevertheless, 2D's mother extended her hand.

Not wanting to botch this up any further than it already had, the bassist took her hand and shook it. His mind, operating at a higher speed, searched through the bowels of his memory for the woman's name. What was it? What the hell was it? They mentioned it at the hearing. It was a flower. Lily? No. Violet? Or was it Rose? Rose, that's it!

"'Ello, Mrs. Tusspot." Murdoc greeted. "Mrs. _Rose_ Tusspot, right?"

"Ah." Rose gave the barest of smiles. "You remembered."

The three of them continued to stand on the porch apprehensively. 2D and Murdoc shared a look of dread, while Rose seemed to sort things out in her mind. At last, she held the door wide open for everyone. "Please," She said warmly. "Make yourself at home, Murdoc. Stuart, your father's home too. He's in the living room trying to fix the DVD player. Mind the mess."

Inside was indeed every bit as cozy, welcoming, and peaceful as 2D had described on their train ride. The wooden floors were occasionally blanketed with a nice, plush rug. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with wine-red wallpaper that had floral designs. Small tables and chairs were judiciously scattered about. Here and there were silly knickknacks and souvenirs cluttered in a very lived-in fashion. It was, without a doubt, the kind of home that had everything the Old Niccals household did not.

As they were led from the sitting room to the den, Murdoc's eye caught what appeared to be a wooden, antique piano that was set against the staircase. On top of the piano was a white, crocheted cloth that was anchored down by picture frames. Little Stuart had big cheeks and big, bright eyes. The bassist was tempted to stop and pick-up the photo for a closer look, but knew touching anything in the house would not run well with the parents of the person he nearly killed.

Entering the den, Murdoc discovered that he had forgotten how threatening Mr. Tusspot looked. The man was, if nothing else, large. Big hands. Big feet. Broad and heavy chest. The bassist was only about a fourth of his overall size. Although he was kneeling on the floor, swearing to himself as he tried to re-wire some machinery, Murdoc could also tell that 2D's father stood at a daunting one hundred and ninety centimeters. Whereas 2D might have inherited his good looks and voice from his mother, the height all came from the father.

Mr. Tusspot- Matthew, if Murdoc remembered right- had his sleeves rolled-up to his elbows. He had tattoos on both of his muscular arms. Obviously working at the local fair kept the man in shape. When he looked up from his work, he smiled at his son, but the sentiment instantly disappeared at recognizing Murdoc.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Matthew said gruffly.

"_Dad_." 2D actually scolded. "It's okay, we're-" The singer's teeth dropped on his lower lip and bit. For all that he had been sharing his bed with the bassist, spending time with him, talking to him, and occasionally kissing him, 2D had no idea what Murdoc wanted their relationship to be. "We're… uh…"

"Mates." Murdoc finished for him. "We're mates now."

To the singer's delight, he said this with much confidence. 2D couldn't stop himself smiling as enthusiastically as he did when they first came to the house. Matthew, however, was unconvinced and seemed determined to stay that way.

"Right. Stu, give me a hand here." Ignoring Murdoc, he waved 2D to kneel down next to him and help with the DVD player. "The wires are all over the place."

"All right, dad." 2D replied, grabbing a screwdriver from the ground and twirling it with his fingertips. "Here. I'll take care of this thing. You can sort out the cables."

Murdoc's stomach tightened. With 2D no longer at his side to create a buffer between him and his parents, the bassist felt irrevocably stranded. What made the situation worse was that he was perfectly aware that Matthew was going to conduct a one-on-one interrogation with his son.

Why did I agree to come here? The bassist thought to himself furiously. I should've known this would happen, but no, I had to forget that once upon a time, I wanted to turn 2D into a grease spot. Fuck, what am I-

His line of thought was cut short when someone gently touched his shoulder. Murdoc jolted. It was Rose.

"Why don't you come with me to the kitchen, Murdoc?" Rose invited. She had seen the bassist lose the color in his face the second 2D had momentarily forgotten him. "Looks like the rest of my family will struggle with the 'wonders' of technology."

Recognizing the olive branch, Murdoc gripped onto it. "Sure. Lead the way."

Nodding, Rose led him out the room, down a narrow hallway, and into the kitchen. The kitchen was cramped with stacked dishes, set upon shelves for display, a variety of cooking machinery, and fresh fruits and vegetables hanging in netted baskets above the sink. Passing the oven, Murdoc noted there was something boiling on the stove: beef broth. It smelt delicious.

"Don't mind my husband." Said Rose as she picked-up a ladle and began stirring the hot liquid. "He's a very stern man, but he has a wonderful heart. I'm sure if he sees you treating our son well, Matthew will be convinced." She set-down the spoon and handed Murdoc a knife and cutting board. When he placed them on the counter, Rose later gave him a bowl of freshly washed carrots. "After all, so much time has passed. It would be tragic if the two of you didn't mend fences."

The bassist had never truly cooked a day in his life. Not wanting to look incompetent, he did prudent thing and started chopping the vegetables according to the shapes he remembered seeing them in the last time he had vegetable-beef soup. Luckily, handling a knife was not an issue. He held a carrot and cut diagonally rapidly. Rose seemed to be impressed with his speed, and gave him another bowl to put the pieces in.

"I was once a piano teacher. I was very strict about it, especially with my sons." Rose explained, trying to make Murdoc feel less isolated with casual chitchat. It saddened her a little to talk about Kenneth without saying his name. "Well, it was never a problem with Stu. He loved the piano. Practiced more than he had to." She laced the broth with salt and pepper. "Got carpal tunnel syndrome because of it when he was thirteen. I had to wrap his fingers with gauze for fourteen days. The moment the gauze was gone, Stu went back to the piano."

"He's very talented." Murdoc admitted, finished with the carrots and returning the bowl of chopped pieces. Rose took them from him and carefully poured them into the pot.

"Thank you. Unfortunately, talent doesn't sit well with other children. Makes them jealous, it does. Stu didn't have it very easy at school." Murdoc leaned against the counter, and she turned away from the cooking. "I remember one day, the headmaster called me. He said my son had been 'crucified' with two poles. One up his shirt, the other along his arms."

Everyone knew this tale, at least everyone who read Spin magazine and the like. It was one of the stories 2D talked about over and over when he had nothing else to contribute to an animated conversation. It was a sore point, Murdoc was aware of it, but 2D played it off like it didn't matter. That's how he knew it was a sore point.

"I know that story." The bassist replied. "D jokes about it all the time."

"Mm." Turning back to the stove, Rose grabbed a frying pan that was hooked to the wall and set it on one of the empty burners. "He isn't one to hold a grudge. A more kind-hearted person you will never meet."

He continued to assist Rose with the entrée: pan-fried steak with breadcrumbs. 2D's mother taught him how to properly soak the thin slices of steak in butter before powdering them in breadcrumbs and tossing them in the sizzling pan. She waited patiently as Murdoc learned how to peel and grind garlic. When he was having trouble figuring out how to roll biscuits, Rose placed her cool hands over his.

"You have to be gentle. When you press too hard, the dough breaks." Rose said. "Anything that will taste good needs to be treated well." Pressing on the inside of Murdoc's hands with her thumbs, she made the bassist's hands curl-in. The position recalled the way 2D held his hands over the piano.

"Definitely takes after you." Murdoc whispered.

But it was loud enough for Rose to hear.

Whereas 2D and Matthew made the place settings, Murdoc and Rose came into the dining room form the kitchen wearing oven mitts. 2D tried not to laugh at the sight of Murdoc wearing pastel blue gloves with baby chick prints on them. The bassist returned 2D's repressed look with a scowl. He had to do it quick lest Matthew caught him.

Dinner was an uneasy affair. Matthew sat at the head of the table with 2D to his right and his wife to his left. Murdoc had the bad luck of sitting at the other end of the table, where Matthew could pierce him with his pale, gray eyes whenever he wanted to. Thankfully, 2D dominated the conversation at the table, relating to his parents their latest gig in London, Demon Days success at the album charts, and the interesting goings-on of Kong Studios.

"Whatever happened to Paula, Stu?" Matthew suddenly said. Murdoc held onto his fork, not sure whether he wanted to use it to gouge Matthew's eyes out for bringing up old shit or to use it to protect himself from being vivisected on the table. "I remembered you used to go on and on about her."

2D's eyes dropped to his plate. "We, uh… had problems together in the band." His forked idly pushed food around, not piercing anything. "She wasn't the guitarist we needed. Noodle is."

"But why did you have to break-up with her over that, dear?" Rose asked innocently. After their time alone together, Murdoc couldn't bring himself to hate her for the inquiry. She mothered him better than either of his real mothers did.

"Things just didn't work out." His singer dodged. "… It's hard, you know? Bein' in a band. No time for… love."

Matthew held his utensils upright, chewing roughly and swallowing. "Don't say that. Always time for a bit of romance." He took a sip from his glass of cognac. "Besides, your mum and I are expectin' some grandchildren now. Best be hurrying up, young man."

The singer laughed nervously and glanced at Murdoc with the corner of his eye. His band mate caught it and looked away. Suddenly he was staring a large piece of broccoli on his plate. Murdoc concentrated on stabbing it and chewing it for the rest of the night.

Once dinner ended, 2D helped his mother with the washing dishes, and Murdoc, preferring to avoid contact with patriarch of the family, helped dry. When all the plates and cutlery were put away into their appropriate places, 2D entertained his family with a few renditions of Chopin on the piano. Rose, ever the model hostess, served spice cookies with mulled wine. The wine did the trick for Murdoc. After sitting in between the Tusspots for no less than an hour, he was finally beginning to let his guard down. However, the wine had the effect of a double-edge sword. Although Murdoc felt less worried with what 2D's parents thought of him, the wine also started unraveling harsh thoughts. Being here, with the parents whom had cursed Murdoc to a much greater hell than he could ever imagine, brought the bassist back to 1997.

The memories were all too clear. He was sitting next to his attorney and wearing a threadbare three-piece suit his father handed down to him while cleaning out the estate. Rose and Matthew were sitting several rows behind him in the gallery. He could not see them, but he could sense the daggers they were staring into his back. His ears did not miss the sound of a much younger Rose sobbing and burying her face into her husband's chest.

They had taken the plea. There was no way around it. Murdoc Niccals was guilty of involuntary manslaughter, the destruction of private property, theft, and disturbing the peace. His attorney, Blair Willingham, pointed out, however, that Stuart Tusspot was not physically dead. It was the only thing they had to lighten the sentence alongside the fact that Murdoc did not leave the scene of the crime. Murdoc's previous record of theft and drug abuse did not help.

What did help, surprisingly enough, was the judge himself. Judge Vincent Carmichael, a handsome black man, had lost his wife a week ago. The day before she died, his wife made the strangest request.

"_I've a favor to ask… If the operation does not go well."_

"_What is it, love?"_

"_If a man named Murdoc Niccals ever crosses your path, please help him if you think he needs it."_

"_Murdoc? Who's Murdoc?"_

"_A bloke who loves a little too well and a little too hard."_

The gaval came down, and to everyone's absolute shock, Murdoc was not even given time in prison. He was given, instead several years of community service in the form of taking care of Stuart Tusspot and paying the owners of Uncle Norm's Emporium and the Vauxhill Austra for all damages. This sentence was given on the grounds that, indeed, Stuart was not dead and no further collateral damage occurred. Murdoc stood at the wooden table, mouth hanging wide open. 2D's parents were in tears and uproar. No one in courthouse understood what had happened.

Little did Murdoc know that his lucky day in court was Claire's parting gesture.

She did not realize her last bit of love for Murdoc would make him take his guilt and swallow it whole. It stirred within his belly for nearly a decade, a dormant ghost ready to manifest itself. As the bassist watched 2D run his fingers quickly along the black and white keys, he quickly realized how this beautiful young man deserved better. Instead, 2D invited him to his home and made peace for him with his parents. Murdoc's head spun. He felt physically ill and haunted.

Finished listening to Frederic Chopin's 'Vals number 7 i ciss-moll,' Rose stood from the sofa, stretched, and bid everyone goodnight. Before climbing up the stairs to the master bedroom with her husband, she kindly directed Murdoc to the guest room- Kenneth's old bedroom- which was located directly across from 2D's. Carrying what little luggage they had up the stairs, Murdoc dropped his bag on his bed and knocked on 2D's door. Upon entering, he saw the singer already folding some of his clothing into the empty dressers he had not touched in years.

"You didn't tell them?" Was the first thing that came out of his mouth.

2D didn't look at him. He continued settling into his room. "Tell them what?"

"Paula. You didn't tell them about Paula."

"'Course not." The singer replied, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "Don't think they would've let me hang 'round you or the band if I did."

"And you didn't tell them about what happened to your teeth?" Murdoc went on, surprised that no one had mentioned it.

"Yeah, I told 'em." The singer, this time more calmly. There was a hitch in Murdoc voice that signaled to 2D that he had to watch his step. Closing a drawer and opening another, 2D continued. "Doesn't mean I gave 'em the truth, though. Said it happened during one of the concerts. Ambushed by fans when I jumped off stage."

His parents first found out when they happened to see 2D on the front page of 'Rolling Stone' magazine. The giant gap in his smile was hard to miss. Worried, and jumping to the conclusion the missing teeth were the fault of a certain bassist, Rose immediately called 2D's cell phone. Not wanting to jeopardize the band, 2D thought quickly and covered for Murdoc with the best and most logical excuse he could manufacture. During that period, 2D still idolized Murdoc beyond good health. His ignorance at the time made lying quite easy.

Murdoc slowly shut the door behind him and leaned against the doorframe. There was a nasty look on his face. It had been two months since 2D had last seen it, and now that it was back, it made the singer wary. "What else did you cover for me?"

2D sighed heavily. He did not like where this was going.

"Do we really have to talk about this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's a joke. A fucking farce."

Murdoc closed his eyes and moved away from the door. The way his touched his temples looked as though he was having a severe headache. "Look. I've had enough of getting my ass saved by you, dumb luck, or whatever the fuck it is up there that seems to be having pity on me."

Baffled by his band mate's behavior, 2D stood from the bed he was sitting on and tried to calm the bassist down. He was about to lay his hand on Murdoc's arm, but he pulled away.

"I don't get how you could- could kiss me in the car, knowing I was the bastard who stole your girlfriend. _Twice_. I don't know how you could spend time with an asshole who put bruises all over you. " He gave a short, humorous laugh. "And I don't know how you can sleep with an old fool who asked you to blow his bloody head off! For fuck's sake, D. Why won't you get _mad_ at me?"

Standing back, 2D crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "I don't like feeling angry." He shrugged. "It gives me migraines."

Murdoc let go of his head and paced the floor agitatedly. "Yeah. And who do you got to blame for _that_?"

"It's called forgiveness, Muds." Said 2D. He followed Murdoc's movements along the floor until Murdoc finally faced him. "You know what that is?"

"Don't recall ever apologizing."

"You didn't have to because I didn't expect you to." Holding onto the bassist's shoulders and keeping them there, 2D became conscious of the fact it was imperative to come out with the truth. "You were a hard person to deal with. If I asked for you to say sorry, you would've knocked my bottom teeth out. Sorry, but I value my teeth more than an apology."

His friend couldn't look at him. "Were you that afraid of me?"

The answer was a difficult one, but Murdoc asked for it. "I probably feared you as much as you hated me." Saying those words triggered an unused crank in 2D's brain. Without warning, his hands dropped from Murdoc's shoulders. "Now can I ask _you_ a question?" He started heatedly. "Why _did_ you hate me so much?"

Not familiar with hearing anger in 2D's voice, Murdoc's basic defenses sprung-up. Sarcasm was his primary ally. "Well, what do _you_ think?"

With that, their conversation instantly switched from guarded to clipped.

"I don't know. That's why I asked. Tell me."

"I was fuckin' stuck with you."

"_Stuck_ with me? What, so you think you're stuck with me _now_?"

"That's not what I said."

"Sounded like that's what you said."

They moved away from one another and stood at opposite sides of the room.

"Dammit! Do you know how humiliating it was? I had to wheel your numb ass around for a year!"

"Gee, Muds, whose fault was _that_?"

"Mine! I admit it. _Mine_!"

Murdoc had thrown his arms into the air in mock-surrender. 2D covered his face with his hands. "Look." The singer offered. "Let's just drop it and sleep."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no." The bassist crossed the room with long, menacing strides. "You're not gonna run away from me. Not this time."

"I'm not running away from you." 2D replied, searching for calm. Distantly, he was aware that in the few seconds it took for Murdoc to get to him, the bassist had him cornered against the wall. He involuntarily swallowed. "I'm avoiding starting a fight."

"You're not avoiding a fight." Murdoc shot back. "You're avoiding confrontation, which has always- _always_- been your goddamn problem!"

"Tone your voice down." He gently pushed Murdoc away, giving him more space and thus self-confidence. When 2D started speaking again, it was in hissing whispers. "Listen, I don't wanna get my family all riled-up because _you_ can't get over the things you did to me."

"Then when are we gonna talk about this?" The bassist hissed in return. "Never? If we don't do it now, it's gonna happen later."

"I don't wanna talk about it. At. _All._ We don't have to."

"Yes. We. _Do._"

"Why? All it's gonna do is make us pissed off."

"Pissed off is normal!"

"Maybe for _you!_"

Those three words smarted. Murdoc verbally hit him back.

"Oh, so it's okay living in la-la land?"

"I don't live in la-la land!"

"How can't you? You're doped-up twenty-four/seven!"

"_Shut up, Murdoc_!"

Not thinking straight, and feeling that familiar curl of hatred embrace his heart, Murdoc grabbed 2D by the forearm- _hard_. 2D unwillingly bent against the pain.

"Let go of me!"

"No."

"Shit! You're hurting me!"

"Too bad."

_CRACK._

Murdoc reeled backwards, seeing stars. His cheek stung wildly. He brought his hand up to it and looked at 2D. 2D still had his arm raised in the air. The singer had slapped him with the back of his hand. His other arm had a dark bruise on it. It was colored blue and green.

The room became silent.

Breathing hard, 2D gradually lowered his arm. A bright red mark was taking over half of Murdoc's face, and the bottom of his lip was split and bleeding. Tentatively, the bassist touched his lip with his fingers. He winced at the throbbing and brought his fingers into view. Blinking in alarm, Murdoc found blood.

"I'll get a wet cloth." His singer said stiffly. "Stay here."

Moments later, Murdoc and 2D were sitting on the bed with 2D kneeling in front of the bassist as he cleaned the split in his lip with water and hydrogen peroxide. It stung like a bitch, but Murdoc took it. If he had to be honest, what really hurt was the tender way his friend dabbed a corner of the wet cloth against his lip. There was a concentrated effort there, the bassist saw it in the way a crease formed in between 2D's brows and his black eyes narrowed at the task at hand.

It was wrong. The singer shouldn't be taking care of him like this. It made him ache more than he could say.

"Guess you finally got me 'mad.'" 2D tried to joke. When he smiled, it was a cheerless one. "There. All done."

He threw the cloth into the small bowl he had carried upstairs along with the bottle of antiseptic. The night had become endless. Neither of them realized until later that their fight lasted a good few hours. They found this to be astounding, as it seemed it went on for only a few minutes. Now, in the aftermath, they had little to say to one another and were afraid to start the argument anew.

But this was, as Noodle said, 'unfinished business.'

As it turned out, the incensed words exchanged were not completely in vain. Something that 2D had said stood out. It cried for attention, and no matter how many times Murdoc tried to ignore it, the statement rang clearer and clearer. 'It's called forgiveness, Muds.' He might have been a cruel, narcissistic man, but he wasn't an ignorant one. Forgiveness has another half to it, and loathe to Murdoc for having said it himself: He never apologized.

Wrestling with the idea of being repentant for anything, Murdoc took one glance at 2D's worried face and forced his dry throat to work. Once, twice, he opened his mouth and nothing came out. Seeing that the bassist was trying to talk, 2D leaned back and sat cross-legged on the mattress.

"I'm… s- sorry, Stuart."

Voice inexplicably hoarse, he had to wrench every letter and syllable out with sheer will. His shoulders shook with open disgust. Murdoc hated apologies. Never had he received one from the people he wanted, and so he had come to accept them as something too good for him. It didn't matter. No. At any rate they were useless, fake, a waste of-

Before he knew what was happening, his chin was resting over 2D's shoulder and his waist was encircled with a pair of thin arms. "I know." 2D said softly. "I'm sorry too."

"You're sorry?" He couldn't hide his bewilderment. 2D held him closer.

"I'm not the only one who got hurt here, Murdoc."

Chocolate. Cigarettes. Coffee. Butterscotch. Murdoc closed his eyes and nestled his nose against 2D's hair. "Does this make us square?" He whispered against his singer's ear.

Lifting his hand, 2D rubbed the nape of Murdoc's neck with his fingertips. "I think so, yeah."

The touch faintly tickled, and the bassist was surprised to find himself back to where he was with 2D before the quarrel. The cold tension that wedged itself between them melted, and with it the strange sensation that they had become strangers to one another disappeared. "So." The singer piped-up. "I guess now we should properly introduce ourselves."

"What?"

"Startin' anew, see? We both agree what's happened happened. It doesn't gotta follow us around anymore." Clearing his throat and exaggeratingly knocking on his chest, 2D adopted a mock aristocratic accent. "'Ello! My name is Stuart Tusspot. How do you like Crawley? Isn't she lovely?"

Humoring 2D, Murdoc played along. "A bit of a quiet one, she is. And rather boring, I must say." He lent out his hand. "Murdoc Niccals."

"Ah, pleasure to meet you." 2D took his hand and shook it. "But I think you better think twice, my good fellow. Crawley is not at all as drab as she seems."

"Is she, now?" Murdoc gracefully lifted one of his eyebrows, causing his band mate to double over in laughter. "Do tell. What does she have to offer?"

"Colors!" The singer exclaimed. "As far as the eye can see! A hell of a lot prettier than Stoke, I must say."

Dropping the lilt in his voice, Murdoc said blandly. "Anythin's prettier than Stoke."

Interpreting the statement as a sort of challenge, 2D announced in his normal speech: "Tomorrow, I'm gonna show you a place I used go to with my brother when we were little." Bending to the shell of Murdoc's ear, he whispered: "You'll feel like you're nine again. It's magic."

He didn't add any more to that.

The following morning, Rose had prepared them a filling breakfast consisting of hash browns, sliced ham, scrambled eggs, and Belgium waffles with strawberries and cream. On the table she also set two full carafes of milk and orange juice. The smell drifted up the staircase and roused everyone out of his beds. Upon seeing the feast laid out before them, Murdoc turned to 2D's mother and, with his eyes, silently asked if this was for him too. The corners of Rose's eyes crinkled into crowfeet, and she nodded toward the fourth place-setting at the table. At his chair, Murdoc discovered an envelope standing upright against his glass of juice. There was also a small plate of Danish cookies sitting next to it. No one else had a similar plate of sweets.

Opening the envelope, Murdoc pulled-out the card inside. The cover was a simple watercolor painting of Crawley's cityscape. Flipping the card open, the bassist read whatg was inside.

'_Thank you.'_

His stomach sank to his feet. Had their argument last night penetrated the walls of the house? Glancing up from the card, Murdoc saw Matthew peering at him from over his newspaper. He gave Murdoc a curt nod.

Indeed it had.

Feeling a touch of self-consciousness, the bassist made no comment and joined the family at the table.

Later, in the yard, 2D unlocked the bikes from the porch railing and carried one of them to their rental car. Murdoc helped by carrying the other. As they harnessed the bicycles onto the roof, the bassist idly said: "I want your mother."

2D was nearly crushed by the very bike he was trying to tie-down. "What!"

"Not like that, dullard." He used the nickname lightly. "I meant for my own mum. She's perfect." Sighing, Murdoc added, "What a woman."

Chuckling, the singer threw more rope in Murdoc's direction. "Sorry, she's taken."

"Pity, that." Mumbled the bassist.

Before they boarded the car, 2D handed Murdoc a scarf. "Put this on."

He took it and started wrapping it about his neck. It was, after all, quite chilly in autumn, but 2D stopped him by touching one of his hands. "No. I mean, around your eyes."

"What? Why?" His singer gave him a look that said: 'trust me.' Accepting he had no choice, Murdoc placed the scarf over his eyes and knotted it from behind. "All right. Fine, but you better not fuck-up the car."

After assuring him that his driving improved since last summer, 2D drove a one- hour journey through winding roads that led them further and further away from civilization. Of course, Murdoc couldn't see a thing. Instead his sensitive ears noticed that the noises of life were ebbing into hushed murmurs, until at last they faded away entirely.

The car stopped. He heard 2D unbuckled his belt and opened his door. 2D shut the door behind him and walked around the car. He heard the sound of 'crackle, crackle, crackle' beneath the singer's feet. Then, Murdoc's door was opened. Immediately his ears were washed over with the sound of rustling so loud it sounded like the ocean. But waves had a very specific effect on the ear, and he wasn't feeling it. This was something else.

A warm hand helped him out of his seat and onto his feet. The second his boots touched the ground, he heard it again: 'crackle, crackle, crackle.'

"Okay." 2D said softly. "I'm taking this off."

He sensed his friend move behind him and unknot the scarf. The long article of cloth dropped from his eyes like a curtain, and Murdoc gasped.

They were standing alone on wide, long road that seemed to keep going and going- racing against the rising sun. On either side of the road was a forest, so thick and never-ending that the trees appeared to merge with one another and become one. It was an ocean of a different sort. Instead of blues and greens, there were reds, oranges, yellows, gold, bronze, brown, and vibrant mixtures of all everywhere.

A wind blew, causing their scarves to flutter and the leaves to rain down furiously, but and beautifully: '_shhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…'_

The leaves landed on the ground, carpeting the road and the soil. This place smelt of earth, sun, and anything good the wind took with it.

"Goodness fuck." Murdoc said at last. "Everythin's on fire."

2D moved to stand next to him. "Used to go biking here with Kenneth all the time. Wind was so strong it pushed our wheels and made us feel like we were flying."

They untied their bikes from the car. For a while, they pedaled leisurely along the path. The morning sun made its way up and shown through the leaves by noon. The land was glowing, and when the wind picked-up the wheels of their bikes propelled a little faster. For a moment, Murdoc felt as if he was rising from his seat. Bothered by the alien sensation, he held tightly onto the handlebars.

While he was getting his bearings straight, 2D whizzed past him and snitched his scarf. Murdoc jerked his head around, in time to see the singer stick his tongue out and sped-up to get away from him.

"Why, you little-"

Pumping his pedals, he chased 2D along the path. But his band mate avoided him with loops, sharp turns, zigzagging, and winding. Their bikes flirted with one another in a surreal dance in which no one touched.

When Murdoc finally caught up to 2D's side, the singer looked at him.

And time slowed down.


	9. Chapter 9: The Scythe's Keeper

"Half-Life"

Chapter 9- The Scythe's Keeper

By: Bettina Elvina

Pairing: Murdoc x 2D

Rating: PG-13

Notes: I realized my instructions on how to access the other archive to get to my un-cut chapters were very vague, and for that I apologize. Here is what you need to do to access the adult-rated version:

1.) Go to my fanfiction profile and click on my website link.

2.) On my livejournal page, click on livejournal userinfo.

3.) On the next page, you will see a set of icons. Click on the heart.

4.) Click on Half-Life

Upon returning to the Tusspot home, Murdoc quickly walked past 2D and his parents, jogged up the stairs, and locked the door behind him in the guest's bathroom. His mind was thinking so rapidly, he could barely control his hands. Toothpaste. Toothpaste. Where the fuck is the toothpaste? Murdoc knocked over a plastic cup, spilled a container of q-tips, and pushed an open bottle of aspirin into sink. The pills clattered against the white fiberglass and rolled down the pipes. Plinkplinkplinkplinkplink!

He didn't notice any of the mess he was making.

Looking up, Murdoc realized that the mirror before him was also a medicine cabinet. Opening that, he found it: a tube of Colgate. He grabbed it and squeezed as much of the minty paste as he could onto his toothbrush. Turning the faucet, Murdoc let the water run while he violently scrubbed the inside of his mouth.

For all that he enjoyed feeling 2D get aroused beneath his touch, as soon as the tryst was over he didn't know who he was, what he was doing, and why on earth he felt as though someone had died. The aftermath of the ordeal was disturbingly awkward at best. He laid on top of 2D, with the singer's fingers barely touching his, feeling content and satiated. Upon realizing these feelings, Murdoc stiffened. Something was wrong. Something did not fit.

I'm forty years old. I live in a Winnebago in the car park of Kong Studios. I'm alone. I'm the founder of the Gorillaz. I'm a bassist. My daughter lives with her stepfather. I stole a car from the autoshop and drove it through Uncle Norm's Emporium. It was my thirty-first birthday. I almost killed Stuart Tusspot. I planned to have fireworks in my head. Stuart gave me one more year to live. We kissed in the Geep. We burned my flat in Stoke. I went down on him in Crawley.

Without warning, Murdoc was scared. He felt closed-in and had the desperate desire to leave this beautiful place 2D had taken him to.

_Once the sweat had cooled of their bodies, Murdoc stood-up, stumbled for his bike, and left 2D behind, rumpled on the leaves. His ears barely caught the singer calling out his name, and even though the bassist knew he had now dug his own grave, he kept walking away._

_After loading the bicycle and tying it firmly in place, Murdoc waited in the driver's seat of the car. He waited and waited and waited. Part of him wanted to take off, abandon the man who had warped his common sense, and never think of this escapade again. Yet another part of him, the part Murdoc thought he had thrown into the security deposit, compelled him to sit patiently. It was three hours before 2D returned to their vehicle alone. _

_2D opened the passenger's door and dropped into his seat. His mouth was carefully sealed shut, and his eyes stared out the windshield focusing on nothing. They sat still, neither moving out of fear of provoking the other. When the sun began to set over the horizon, and all that was burgundy and gold melted into hues of gray, 2D spoke._

"_Drive."_

_Without thinking, he turned his wrist, and the ignition started. They went down the road they had taken in the opposite direction, moving further and further away from an unknown possibility. Murdoc could sense 2D seething quietly in his seat. _

Murdoc brushed his teeth until his gums started to bleed. When he spat into the basin, the froth from his mouth was tinged a pretty pink. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist.

The taste of 2D was still on his tongue. It was bittersweet.

A knock on the door. The bassist turned around. Three knocks. Foolishly, Murdoc tried not to move, believing that perhaps whoever it was would think no one was inside the bathroom, but a ghost.

"Murdoc, is everything all right?" It was Rose. "Stuart said you were not feeling well upon your trip back. Are you sick?"

"No." He replied too readily. His tongue was burning, and his throat felt raw. It took effort to talk. "I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute. Jus' need to use the bog."

"Ah." Came the muffled reply. "Be quick about it then. Dinner is on the table."

In spite of himself, and the door that blocked his face, Murdoc nodded politely.

Hearing footsteps move away from the bathroom, he turned to the medicine cabinet and shut it. The reflection that stared back at the bassist was unrecognizable. Murdoc's lip did not curl. His eyebrows did not furrow with mischief. His eyes were not shrewd, but confused.

When the bathroom door closed behind him, Murdoc made his way downstairs. Had he stared at himself a moment longer, he would have recognized that that the person he was looking at was someone he did his best to destroy.

The following morning was an early one. If they wanted to catch the train to Essex and avoid traffic, they would have to leave the household by seven o'clock sharp. After hastily nabbing toast and a cup of coffee, Murdoc and 2D went into their separate rooms and packed their duffle bags. The previous night had been sour. Not deigning to stay in 2D's bedroom after- once again- fouling everything up, Murdoc spent the dark hours trying to sleep. Regardless of how clean and soft the bed sheets and pillows were, the bed was uncomfortable. It was, in his mind, too large for one person. When he rolled over, the bassist expected to find something warm and slender there, but instead found cold air.

It was the Winnebago all over again. It was Stoke all over again.

When the clock struck four, he decided to not bother trying anymore. Murdoc waited for the sun to peak through the lace curtains and greet him a sadistic good morning.

Cramming an extra pair of pants into his bag, Murdoc zipped it shut and sat on the bed. A creak against the wooden floor told him someone was about to enter his room. His nose twitched. Coffee and cigarettes were in the air, and beneath that were chocolate and butterscotch. He did not look to the doorway. 2D remained there.

"I don't want to ask this question, but you're forcing me to do it again." His singer said calmly. "Are we okay, Muds?"

"No." He replied without hesitation. Last night, when the bassist found that rest was out of the question, he decided to prepare for what he knew would come in the morrow. "No." Murdoc said again, confirming the answer to himself more than anyone else. "We're not okay."

2D nodded, not particularly surprised. From behind his back, he held onto the elbow of his left arm. It was a way of giving himself support when he knew killing blows were about to hit. Nevertheless, he continued to speak. "Even after that fight?"

The bassist grimaced. It wasn't an innocent question. Behind it were all the promises and hopes that the fight had started, but were cut short by the Murdoc's impulses. Suddenly feeling the hours he had lost, Murdoc pressed his palms against his eyes. "We will _always_ fight, Dullard."

Leaving the doorway and walking toward his band mate, 2D sat on the edge of Murdoc's bed with his back to him. "I know that." The singer said. "I just thought we got over certain things."

Murdoc snorted. "Guess not."

He tried not to be too angry with this difficult man. 2D reasoned that if he could tolerate years of cruelty and abuse from this person, he supposed he could handle a little more. But when the singer thought about how happy he had been the past two months, he wanted to grab Murdoc by the shoulders and shake him. This didn't have to be so damn hard. On the ride home, the phrase circled his mind furiously. The words tugged at his lips, but 2D resisted. Fuck you, Murdoc. I'm not gonna talk to you if _you're_ not gonna talk to _me_.

"Back there… in the forest..." 2D whispered. "Was everything you said to me then lip service?"

The answer was simple, but he was too stubborn to say it immediately. Instead, as 2D thought he would, Murdoc stalled. "Why are you asking me this, D?"

Used to these mind-fuck games, 2D played his own hand. "Because, if I remember right, you wanted to make things up to me." He glanced over his shoulder to look at the bassist. "With the way you're acting, you'll always have something to make-up for."

That was a good explanation, and quite frankly Murdoc was more than a little startled by it. Taking his duffle bag into his arms, he laid it over his lap and held onto it. He remembered what he said. He brushed his teeth five times before bed in hopes that the words wouldn't stick. His teeth had never been so clean. Murdoc sighed.

"It wasn't lip service."

2D sat up straighter. Murdoc braced himself for worse. "What was it?"

Pause. The answer to this one was just as simple.

"I don't know." He said honestly, the images of yesterday burned into his skull. When they were lying together, alone and surrounded by fiery colors, Murdoc took 2D's hand into his and was strangely marveled by it. Soft, yet experienced. Perfect, yet marred. Touching the singer's skin, paying attention to only him, made something snap. He hadn't held anyone's hand in decades. He hadn't had sex and not be alone in it in decades. Now, after an experience that was a long time in coming, Murdoc felt as if his head was barely above water.

The bassist knew himself well. Sinking was not an option. Before pulling the plug, he needed to know: "Did you… like it when I touched you?"

The inquiry threw 2D. He couldn't help, but laugh. If Murdoc couldn't tell he reveled in every bit of his kisses, licks, and touches, the bassist was legally blind. "You're kidding, right?" He asked back, still shaking with giggles. When Murdoc continued to stare at him, his face carefully washed free of all emotion and completely neutral, 2D calmed himself. "Yeah. I liked it." He replied, unable to suppress a smile. "You were nice."

The bassist flinched as if he had been insulted. "Me? Nice?"

"And pretty aggressive. Not too much, though. Just right." The impish grin on 2D's face gradually faded. He heard the slight change in Murdoc's tone that signaled everything was about to swerve to the left and he'd have to hold on. "Are we not gonna do that again?" The singer asked with masked dread. "You left suddenly, and I thought…"

This conversation was taking too long, and 2D was pulling at strings he didn't know were attached to him. Murdoc felt himself pulling one way, while the singer pulled him in another. His hand balled into a fist, and it shook with the reserved potential of knocking out teeth. Needing to move around and dispel the energy, Murdoc rose from the bed and paced the room. 2D recognized the controlled agitation, and appreciated it. Nevertheless, he stuffed his hand in his pocket and held onto his switch knife.

"I've spent most of my life wingin' situations I walk into." His band mate snarled, wringing his hands together and looking around the room as if searching for answers. "Don't think what's started is something my head can wrap around. We better stop this before I do something stupid."

They were at high speed, and now they came to a grounding halt. It felt like being thrown out of a vehicle and landing on concrete. "Stop this?"

"_This._"The bassist gestured the space between them with his hand. "I don't know what the fuck's goin' on. You said before I'm not comfortable with myself. Well guess what, princess? I'm not. Not like this. You can't teach an old bastard new tricks. When we get back to Kong, I'm goin' back to the Winnebago. It's bad enough I sucked you off. Don't need you and me hangin' around together like faggots. "

These words, angry and frustrated, were spoken in a rush. It didn't escape 2D's notice that Murdoc couldn't look at him as he said them. Murdoc stopped pacing before the window. He leaned his arm against its frame and looked outside. The singer studied him carefully. Twitching hands. Eyes darting about. Chewing on the lip. Pacing. Where had he seen this all before?

The image came into view. It was their first concert at the Camden Brownhouse. Fifteen minutes before their call on stage, Murdoc had abruptly disappeared for the bathroom. Being the only person in the band who was brain damaged enough to approach the bassist, 2D went after him. What he found startled him. The bassist was pacing back and forth along the stalls and _dry heaving._ The second Murdoc about faced to continue pacing, he froze at the sight of 2D staring at him openly. 'You, fucker!' Murdoc screamed hoarsely. 'Get out!' Murdoc tore a towel dispenser from the wall and threw it at him. He missed, and that was when 2D knew. The bassist was frightened.

Bolstered by an almost blind courage, 2D laid out the truth as he saw it.

"I don't think that's what's really bothering you."

His band mate jerked his head away from the window and stared at him. His red eye had never looked so piercing and feral. "Then what is it, mate? You think you know my mind better than I do?"

2D stared back, unfazed. "You're afraid."

Again, Murdoc's body flinched. Gambling on playing a bluff, Murdoc forced himself to grin wickedly. It was not easy to do, and it hurt a great deal. "What'd you say?"

Tired of dealing with this behavior, the singer sighed deeply through his nose. "Nothing. Forget it." He stood from the bed and walked out the door without looking back. He had had enough of trying to talk with Murdoc in hopes of somehow meeting him in the middle. "Come on, Muds. We better go before we miss the train."

Floored, Murdoc watched him go. He belatedly realized that the trip home would be tediously long.

Before boarding the train, Murdoc snatched as many cheap novels and magazines he could from the platform kiosk. 2D, on the other hand, took out his iPod and turned the volume as high as it could go without obliterating his ears. When their train arrived at platform seven, they loaded onto the train not talking and not looking at one another. Like the ride back from the forest, everything was playing in reverse.

2D pulled out his switch knife and played with it. What he didn't tell Murdoc about the knife was that his father had also given it to him with the intent of hurting the bassist when the bassist was asking for it. On more than one occasion, 2D resisted the temptation. Now, together in a private compartment, the temptation rose. He didn't want to kill him. No, he wouldn't do that.

But he wanted to make Murdoc scream the way he wanted to scream right now.

He put the knife away. It was always circles with Murdoc. He wouldn't win.

And the idea of that made 2D sink his hand into his pocket and hold onto the knife's handle. They were friends. Good and dysfunctional friends. Yet no matter how much he was willing to offer to make things better, he understood Murdoc would take twenty steps back for every fifty they made. 2D wished they didn't spend time together, and he wished more fervently that the bassist had never been kind to him. The hemming and hawing between knowing where he stood and where Murdoc _wanted_ him to stand was exhausting.

It made him wonder if Murdoc actually cared about him at all.

Across the compartment, the bassist peered over his book. He could tell his singer was thinking hard, and that a mean and almost resentful air had filled the small confines. He wants to hurt me. Murdoc thought. I told him it was okay to hurt me.

"D?"

2D looked up. "What?"

The cool tone was unfamiliar, and took the bassist aback. Regardless, he continued with: "You promised to shoot me down if I… hurt you."

Inside his pocket, he released the knife. The singer discovered that his fingers suddenly lost their nerves. "I know." 2D said. "But it's gonna take more than this to get me, Muds."

"Right." He added, attempting to joke: "Don't let it get to the point that killing you is what it's gonna take."

He couldn't help it. The banter made him smile a little. Unfortunately, 2D didn't feel any better. "Right."

When their train finally arrived in Essex, Murdoc and 2D were too impatient to wait for a taxi and hail it down. They walked to the nearest inn and rented a car for the rest of the trip home. It felt good to be back.

At the wheel, Murdoc had to shake his head several times to keep his eyes open. It felt as though daggers were digging into the back of his eyeballs. More than once he tried to repress a yawn and failed. 2D didn't comment.

By the time they had arrived home, all of Kong Studios was shut down for the night. The large windows, which were usually glowing with light, were dark and covered with drawn blinds. As they approached the roll-away gate sealing the car park, Murdoc noticed that the gate's bars were bent out of shape. Feeling drained beyond all reason, and not really wanting to spend energy questioning the oddity, Murdoc punched in the entrance code. To his surprise, the gate screeched against the pavement, and sparks flew from the ground. Hitting the cancel button, the bassist stopped the gate from rolling further.

2D and Murdoc looked at one another briefly before hopping out of their rental car. Upon closer inspection, they discovered that in addition to the gate being disfigured, the wheels attached to the bottom of the railing had been torn off.

"The hell?" The bassist knelt down and stared at the wheel-less scrap of metal that was digging into the ground. 2D knelt beside him.

"What happened?"

"Looks like someone tried to break in." Murdoc answered. "Probably the fuck-ass zombies again. Shit."

"Whatever. We'll worry about it tomorrow." Rising, 2D held onto one side of the gate and lifted it off the ground. "Get the other side, would you?"

Murdoc did, and together they moved the roll-away to the other side of the gate until there was enough room for their vehicle to enter. They re-boarded the car and drove in. Since most of the studio employees had left hours ago, it was not difficult to find an available space. After parking the car, 2D was the first to get out and start heading for his room. When he was gone, Murdoc hit the steering wheel.

"Fuck!" He hit the steering wheel again. Once. Twice. Three times. Murdoc started beating the shit out of it until his hands ached. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"

Laying his eyes and forehead against the horn, Murdoc bit his lip until it bled and stained the knee of his old jeans. Leaning back, he turned his head and noticed that the passenger's door was still open. Reaching across, Murdoc pulled the door shut. When the whole car was sealed, he grabbed his hair and screamed as if he had been stabbed.

From outside not a sound could be heard.

Entering the Winnebago, Cortez roused from his nap and looked-up. There, standing beneath the van's narrow doorway, was an old face he had seen only occasionally in the past few weeks. Cortez crowed lightly and flew from his post to perch on Murdoc's bony shoulder. Murdoc rubbed the bottom of Cortez's chin.

"Hey, you miss me, mate?"

The bird closed his eyes and rubbed the top of his head against Murdoc's scruffy cheek. Murdoc chuckled, a little sad. "Missed you too. Kept the Winne safe?"

Cortez cawed again, this time in affirmation. The bassist looked around him briefly, as if to confirm. "Good."

He walked inside, the bird remaining on his shoulder, and set his bag on the floor. Months of not being in the Winnebago had certainly improved the vehicle's smell. Sitting on a chair in the kitchen, Murdoc picked-up his V-bass, which was leaning against one of the cupboards. Cortez released a series of clicks and croons, flapping one wing while curling his talons.

"No, I'm not gonna sleep. Too much in the head." Murdoc set the bass on his right knee and began plucking notes. His bird made two clicks and cocked his head.

"I'm fine, Cortez. Go back to sleep. I'll feed you in the morning."

Strange things, animals. The raven stared at him for a moment, right through Murdoc's eyes as if he were trying to figure out what the truth was. Unnerved, Murdoc looked away from his bird. Cortez understood. He flew off and left the bassist alone.

Reaching into his pocket, Murdoc pulled out his box of cigarettes and popped one out. He lit the fag, slipped it between his dry lips, and kissed the familiar lover. Following two puffs, the bassist grabbed the tattered notebook sitting on the table and wrote bass lines. In a few hours' time, he would need a new notebook.

He stared at the ceiling, not really contemplating much except for the noise he heard in his head. Several times Murdoc was able to untangle the beats, the rhythms, the chords, and put them into harmony. When his knuckles were too tired to continue, and the bottom of his strumming finger bled all over his guitar strings, Murdoc put down the bass. A knock on his door startled him. He was in the zone, and it had been so quiet.

Thinking he was probably hearing things, Murdoc did not answer the door but gazed at it in case he was wrong. Another knock. It was low and solid.

"Russell." Murdoc murmured. Stepping to the door, he turned the knob and pulled it open.

From outside the Winnebago, Russell and Noodle stood in the cold car park with a colt and a katana in their hands. Earlier, Russell had woken-up needing to use the toilet. He left his room and walked down the corridor, but stopped short when he saw a deformed figure limping across another hallway. Feet momentarily rooted to the spot, Russell turned around and went to Noodle's room. The Asian Axe Princess answered the door, groggy and cranky. But when the drummer whispered: 'There're zombies in the house,' her eyes shot open and she grabbed one of her swords from the rack on the wall.

Managing to get across the hallway without being noticed, they packed into the elevator and took it all the way down to the basement floor. To their surprise, the lights in Murdoc's Winnebago were on. Running toward it, Russell was about to knock when he heard the bassist play a very unique line. It was unlike anything he had heard before. Glancing at Noodle, he realized she noticed too. She glanced back at him, her level gaze reminding the drummer why they were here. Russell knocked.

The door creaked open.

"What you want, Russ?" The bassist said irritably, crossing his arms over his chest. "Run out of cheese puffs again?"

"Shut up, man." He shot back hotly. "Noodle and I saw zombies in the studio. Rottin' motherfuckers were wanderin' around the halls. Came down to warn you."

At that, Murdoc uncrossed his arms. In the back of his mind, he recalled the damaged gate. "How many did you see?"

"Eight." Noodle answered, holding tightly onto her lacquer-sheathed katana. "I am sure there are more."

"Eight." Murdoc murmured, thinking for a moment. "Where's 2D? Did you tell him?"

"No. Not yet." Said Russell. "We just got down here. Better wake him up too."

"All right." He turned back into his Winnebago and hollered out the door: "Gimme a sec. Need some things."

When Murdoc reappeared, he was wearing his dark purple cloak. Cortez sat alert over his shoulder, cawing violently into Russell's face. Within Murdoc's grip was his six-foot scythe. The steel glistened in the low-lighting of the car park. Walking down the Winnebago steps, the bassist made a beeline for 2D's bedroom. He was about to knock, but decided to check the doorknob first. To his shock, it was unlocked. He entered the bedroom as if it were his own.

Russell and Noodle followed him into the dark room, which was immediately blasted with light once Murdoc flicked a switch on the wall. Nonchalant, Murdoc walked over to 2D's bed and sat down. He laid his hand over the singer's bare shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"D." He said with a curiously soft voice. "Wake-up."

The singer squinted. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw Noodle and Russell also in the room and standing at a short distance. 2D looked to Murdoc, gut instinct making him worried. "What's goin' on?"

"Zombies in the house." The bassist said flatly. "Get dressed."

Sitting up, 2D slid out of bed. He was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing else. He grabbed a shirt that was laying over the backrest of his computer chair. "Sounds like there's a lot of them."

Murdoc nodded distractedly, looking around the room. "Where'd you put the caliber?"

"In the drawer." His singer replied while slipping the shirt on. "The one beneath the lamp."

Opening the drawer his band mate was referring to, Murdoc found the gun and a handful of unused bullets. The bassist quickly inspected the gun, and once he sure that it was in good condition, Murdoc loaded it with .45's. "Here." He handed 2D the loaded firearm. "Don't forget what I taught you."

2D took the caliber and nodded.

The band walked to the door leading to the ground floor's lobby. Murdoc stood at the front of the group, his hand holding onto the doorknob. Opening the door several inches, Murdoc slid his arm through the small space.

"Go, Cortez."

The bird ran down from his shoulder and along his arm, flying into the lobby. Murdoc shut the door. They waited.

"Will he be all right, Murdoc-san?" Noodle asked, concerned.

He better be. Last bridge I haven't burned. At the thought of that, his head inadvertently jerked in 2D's direction. Feeling the bassist's gaze, 2D turned around. Murdoc quickly looked away. Swallowing and gathering some faith in the bird's survival skills, Murdoc assured the young guitarist. "If Cortez can live with me, he can live through anything.'"

"What exactly are we waiting for?" Russell asked.

And the moment the drummer asked that question, two light taps vibrated through the metal door. Murdoc pushed it open. "It's safe. Go into the lobby."

Everyone obeyed his orders. Murdoc positioned himself at the center of the group and waited for Cortez to finish circling the ceiling. He raised his arm, and the bird flew down to it as if he was trained to do so. As Murdoc spoke, he looked at each of them to make sure they taking him seriously. "Russell and I will cover the East Wing of this floor. You and Noodle cover West. Do _not_ leave one another's sides. Check every room. When you're done, we'll reconvene here and do a sweep of the second floor."

The pairs nodded, and they split from the lobby. Murdoc held the scythe before him, while Russell held his colt at the ready. Entering the east corridor, the bassist turned to Russell. "Stay behind me and watch my sides." He slid the scythe's staff down his palm until the blade was a good four feet away from him. "Can't waste bullets."

The drummer made no reply. Rather he nodded and obeyed. As they walked along the hall, Murdoc tapped each door with the end of his weapon before opening it. He then slid his blade through, waving it from side to side to see if it would catch anything. When nothing would snag at the blade's hook, Murdoc would kick the door open and they would screen the room before returning to the corridor again.

If Russell didn't dislike Murdoc so much, he'd compliment his band mate's common sense. Instead, another thing was lingering in his mind. Russell sensed the air had changed between Murdoc and 2D while they were waiting for Cortez's signal to come in. It was a peculiar aura, one Russell had never felt- not even when Murdoc was ready to perform an autopsy on 2D for annoying him out of his mind.

"Muds?" The second Russell said the nickname, he regretted it. Damn curiosity to hell.

"What?" Murdoc pushed the door open to the shooting range and turned on the lights. The gallery lit booth by booth. At this hour of night, the room was creepy.

"How come you teamed with me instead of D?"

He was expecting the bassist to physically retaliate or insult him in one form or another, but Murdoc walked several feet ahead of him and opted to not answer. Russell, guessing that he probably got off easy, decided to not press the subject.

They patrolled the gallery, looking beneath tables and control panels. When they began checking the shooting booths, Russell ducked under one of the desks. Rising back up, he fell backwards at the sight of a zombie staring at him right in the face.

"Mother fucker!"

He aimed the colt at the grinning corpse and shot its arms off. The zombie released a deep, heavy groan, it's arms disintegrating into dust as they hit the floor with a sickening crush. Murdoc ran up to the desk, jumped on top of it, and swung his scythe, beheading the creature. The zombie's head plopped onto the ground, making the sound of smashed eggs. Centipedes, worms, and other insects scattered from its nostrils, mouth, and eyes.

That wasn't the end of it. They heard more chilling groans from behind. Spinning on their heels, they saw two more zombies stumbling over the booths and tearing through hung markers. Russell lifted his colt again, picking off the zombie farthest away. Murdoc

leapt from the desk and jumped inside booth eight. The remaining zombie continued to amble from booth six to booth seven. It smelled the open wound on Murdoc's strumming finger and limped toward him even faster. Russell watched them face-off, gunpoint following the zombie, when something grabbed him from behind. The drummer yelped and spun around before a fourth zombie got the chance to bite off his head.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The decaying body crumpled to the ground, and just for good measure, Russell shot it in the head once more.

Inside booth eight, Murdoc raised the scythe above his head and swung in down in one swift motion. His eyes widened when the zombie actually caught the blade in between its palms, pulled at the blade end of the staff, and yanked the weapon out of Murdoc's hands.

"Oh, fuck."

Running away from the thing, Murdoc tripped and landed hard on his ass. The zombie reached him, and with one hand holding onto the scythe, it grabbed Murdoc's necklace with its other. The bassist sputtered and choked, the golden chain around his neck tightening over his adam's apple.

He really didn't want to do this because it was such a girly thing to do, but the bassist really had no choice. Murdoc waited for the zombie to come closer, and when it did, he kicked it hard in the groin. The zombie's testicles crumbled against the pointy end of Murdoc's Cuban boots.

Staggering, the zombie backed away and yanked at the Satanist chain until the golden links snapped. Murdoc gasped for air, but when he saw his scythe slip from the zombie's hand, he caught it in midair and sliced the zombie across its midsection, disemboweling it. Maggots, larvae, and earthworms spilled out of its stomach. Another gunshot courtesy of Russell, and the zombie was off its feet.

Murdoc kneeled down and picked his necklace up from the floor. A few maggots were crawling over it. He flicked them off and slid the Satanist cross into the pocket of his jeans.

"Four." Murdoc said throatily. "So what, four more?"

On cue, someone let out a horrific scream. Russell and Murdoc glanced at one another before heading for the shooting gallery's exit. As they were jogged, they heard another scream. The sound and pitch were like a fingerprint. Murdoc threw open the gallery door and ran out.

"Stuart."

Murdoc said the name quietly, but not quietly enough that Russell would fail to hear it. Thrown for a loop, the drummer momentarily stopped in his tracks and stood at the gallery entrance. "_Stuart?_"

Since when does anyone call 2D by his real name? His brow furrowed, and he shook his head. Now was not the time to think about significant subtleties. Looking down the corridor, Russell noticed that the bassist was already halfway down it and nearing the lobby. "Murdoc! Hold up! Jesus Christ…"

He ran out of the shooting range and into the corridor, trying to catch up.

Cortez flew at Murdoc's side, clearly sensing that the others were in trouble. While running, Murdoc looked up to his bird. "Cortez, do you smell him? Do you smell 2D?" He cawed. His master nodded. "Fly faster. Take me to him!"

The raven beat his wings faster, angling to the left and soaring through the lobby and into the west corridor. Murdoc followed the bird when he turned into the second door. Cortez continued to fly in a straight arrow, leading the bassist through the booth, across the studio kitchen, and into the studio desk. Through every room they passed, the screams and the sound of struggling grew louder and clearer. Inside the studio desk, Murdoc's eyes swiftly assessed the melee before them.

Noodle was surrounded by two zombies. She was successfully battling the one in front of her, but the one behind her was scratching at her neck and pulling her backwards by her hair. Noodle released a very piercing shriek. Cortez hovered for a moment before he flew up to the ceiling and nosedived at the zombie that was grabbing Noodle by the hair. The bird pecked at its eyes until the zombie released her.

Free, Noodle drove the sharp end of her sword through the gut of the zombie in front of her, while Murdoc dropped to his knees, swung low, and sliced through the second zombie's ankles. When the zombie collapsed, Cortez scratched at the creature's face, dug into the its eye socket with his beak, and tore the eyeball out.

Swinging around, Murdoc saw who he was looking for at the other side of the room. 2D was on his back on the floor. A zombie, one that was wearing a threadbare, red coat uniform, was pinning him down by the wrists and ankles. 2D moved his wrist around, trying to rotate the gun in his hand enough to properly aim.

But the zombie was already lowering its mouth over 2D's head of soft, light blue hair. Murdoc gripped his scythe. "_Get the fuck off him!"_

Leaping over overturned equipment and scattered instruments, the bassist reached 2D's side. Quickly, he flipped the scythe over in his hands, hook-side up. In a shoveling motion, he pierced through the zombie's belly, heaved up, and threw the zombie across the room. The zombie's body hit the wall and slumped over all the guitars that stood against it. Murdoc walked over to it. When the zombie rose from the mangled guitars, Murdoc raised the scythe over his head and sliced the zombie in half from head to toe. Rotting gore splattered everywhere. The bassist stared at the mess, almost shocked that he actually did it.

By the time Murdoc lowered his weapon, he was shaking all over and could not move. He could have died. My singer could have died. 2D could've died. 2D could've died2Dcould'vedied2Dcould've died2Dcould'vedied…

"Muds, watch it!"

In a split second, he saw another zombie, this time in a World War II uniform, looming over his shoulder. Before he could do anything to defend himself, something silver streaked past him and landed in the zombie's chest. Retreating, the zombie back off enough for Murdoc to see 2D's switch knife embedded in between two ribs. Turning around to look at 2D, he froze when he saw the singer aiming the caliber straight at him.

BANG!

Reeling from the deafening sound, Murdoc toppled to the left and landed on his side. The gunshot missed the zombie's head, the bullet having exploded through its shoulder blade instead. The zombie groaned, yanked the switch knife out of its chest cavity, and fled with it. Too out of it to go after the thing, Murdoc remained out of commission on the floor. He noted, grimly, that the right side of his face was warm and dripping wet.

He saw Noodle and 2D rush to him, just as Russell entered the room. All of them were speaking rapidly, but not saying anything. Their voices her muffled, so the bassist couldn't tell whether or not what they were talking about was good or bad. It took a second before Murdoc realized he had instinctively covered his right ear with his hand. Pulling his palm away from the side of his face, he blinked at the amount of blood that was soaking it. There was also this incessant ringing sound. Everything was muffled except for _that._

"Oh, God! Murdoc, are you okay?"

He looked at 2D, disoriented. "WHAT?"

Everyone stood back. Evidently he yelled without realizing it.

"Here." Noodle began, kneeling next to the bassist's damaged ear. "Let me look at it."

Her dark eyes inspected the wound carefully. The bullet didn't touch it, but because the caliber had fired at such a close range and the bullet flew no more than an inch or two away from his head, several blood vessels in Murdoc's ear popped from the pressure. "Russell-san, will you please find me some gauze and cotton? We'll be in the lounge."

"Sure thing." The drummer ran out of the room, no questions asked. In the mean time, Noodle helped Murdoc off the ground and 2D let his band mate lean against his shoulder. They walked out together, a funny cluster of three completely different people, and made their way toward the lounge. As they were leaving, 2D snatched several clean towels from the kitchen. When they finally settled on the sofa, 2D began wiping up blood that was rivering down Murdoc's neck. Noodle tested Murdoc's hearing.

"Can you hear me?" Noodle asked softly. When no reply came, she raised her volume one level. "Can you hear me?" Still, Murdoc did not respond. On the third try, she yelled: "CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

2D jumped in his seat, startled. Murdoc, on the other hand, nodded.

"Good." Said Noodle. "I think this is only temporary deafness. However, we should still take him to the hospital tomorrow. We do not know if the condition of his ear is worse than it looks."

They continued to tend to Murdoc's ear, Noodle looking for a place to apply pressure and stop the blood flow. As 2D carefully cleaned-out Murdoc's ear canal, the bassist spoke-up. He had to consciously monitor the volume of his voice.

"You all right?"

The singer looked up. Murdoc was looking at him the same way he did when the migraine attacked him that one, Saturday night at the urban plaza.

"Yeah." 2D replied. "I'm all right."

And because he didn't think Murdoc understood him, 2D nodded as well. After that, there was another moment of silence.

"Nice shot." The bassist said it without sarcasm.

"I missed." His band mate said disappointedly.

"Still saved my ass, didn't you?"

2D shrugged.

Between them, Noodle furtively monitored their behavior. She made a mental note to interrogate Murdoc about his and 2D's trip out of Essex. Studying 2D's body language, she observed him lick his lips and swallow. It was a telltale sign the singer was about to say something when he didn't really want to talk.

"You're, uh… really good with that." With his chin, 2D gestured toward the scythe leaning against the sofa arm. Cortez was happily perched on top of the blade. "Thanks for- for saving my skin again."

Murdoc faintly grinned. "Don't thank me, dullard."

Just then, the elevator bell rang. Apprehensively, everyone looked towards it. The doors slowly parted, revealing Russell with a first aid kit. They sighed in relief. As soon as Russell sat down, 2D stood up and walked to the other side of the lounge. The singer had his arms crossed over his chest, and he was burning holes into the corner he was standing at with his eyes. Murdoc kept his eyes on him. When he was growing annoyed with the Russell and Noodle's constant fretting over his ear, Murdoc left the sofa and approached the singer. Russell and Noodle glanced at one another.

"What's wrong, D?"

"Sonovabitch stole my switch knife." 2D barked and kicked the wall in front of him. Murdoc blinked at his reaction, and took an unconscious step back. "It was one of a kind." The singer continued. "And even if there were copies of it, it wouldn't be the same.

The bassist laid his hand over his shoulder. "It'll turn up."

"Oh, yeah? How?" Turning away from the wall, 2D faced him with watery eyes. "It's as good as gone. Probably buried somewhere in the cemetery by now."

In the distance, Russell and Noodle scrutinized their interaction. They kept their voices low, and because they were facing one another, it was nearly impossible to read their lips. The drummer frowned, sensing that the air between them was changing again. This time, however, the air felt closer to what he felt when Murdoc and 2D were occasionally talking privately in the instrument room or kitchen.

"What's goin' on, Noodle?" Russell asked.

Noodle only had one answer to that: "I don't know."

The two continued to talk in hushed tones, 2D shaking his head occasionally, and Murdoc attempting to get the singer to face him whenever he looked away. When the bassist placed his other hand on 2D's other shoulder, the singer noticed the other band members paying attention to them. He pulled away from Murdoc until Murdoc's hands slipped off him. The bassist was about to retort, when 2D stopped him.

"They're staring at us." The singer murmured.

Dawning on him what this must look like, Murdoc backed away and turned to the others. "Russ, Noodle." He began, trying to avert their attention to a more pressing matter. "Let's run checks on the other floors. This time, no splitting."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

They went through every floor and inspected every room. From what they could tell, Kong was back to being as empty and gloomy as ever. Barring a few pieces of knocked over furniture and several scratches on the walls, they found no trace of the two zombies they didn't manage to kill. Wary to the bone and feeling a little more than hungry, the band retreated to the first floor kitchen for beer and some snacks.

Murdoc, 2D, and Noodle gathered around the table. Russell, who was paranoid about anything else managing to get into their studio, decided to make sure everything was properly locked-up. Sitting with her legs tucked beneath her, Noodle nursed a warm cup of green tea. 2D changed his mind about the beer, and made hot chocolate with whipped cream for himself instead. He sat across from Murdoc, and leaned forward on the table with his elbows. On the other side of the table, Murdoc sat with his chair tipping back and his legs crossed over the tabletop. There was still a grayish, green substance coating the tip of his boot. Upon seeing the stain, the bassist took another swig of wheat beer.

What a night.

"Did another round of Kong, Muds." Russell announced as he entered the kitchen. "All clear."

"Good." 2D groaned, rubbing his eyes and hoping they wouldn't roll out of their sockets. "We can go back to bed then-"

"_No._" Murdoc snapped. His band mates jolted in their seats. The bassist might have been partially deaf, but they could tell that Murdoc meant every bit of his reproving tone. "You said there were eight. We only got seven of them. One got away. Everyone will stay in the fucking lounge tonight. No one is gonna sleep alone. Tomorrow, we're doing another sweep of the building. Is that clear?"

When none of them replied, Murdoc repeated himself. "I said is that clear?" He looked around him, pleased to see they were slightly intimidated. "This is _my_ bloody band, and I'm not about to replace any of you. So none of you better be _stupid_ enough to croak on me." Letting the front legs of his chair hit the floor, Murdoc stood from the table with a bottle of beer still in hand. "Come on, you lot. Grab your blankets. We're crashin' on the sofa."

Resigned, everyone grabbed their respective cups and followed Murdoc out the door. Entering the lounge with blankets and pillows under their arms, each of them claimed a spot. Russell took his usual place in the LA-Z-BOY recliner, whereas the rest of the group took one section of the couch. Noodle took the right end of the sofa, settling down with her head leaning against the armrest. Murdoc fell into the other end sofa and gracelessly spread his legs over the coffee table. This left 2D floating in the middle with no armrest to lean on. He sat uncomfortably upright for more or less half an hour. By then, Noodle was asleep and Russell was getting there.

2D rolled to his right. He almost fell asleep, but was awakened by the stinging sensation of his right arm becoming numb. 2D rolled to his left, and reaped similar results. Murdoc, who had no intention of catching forty winks at any rate, observed his singer by the corner of his eye. He smirked, a little amused and a little disappointed.

"You moron." Murdoc whispered. "Lean on my shoulder and quit fidgeting."

Before 2D could refuse, the bassist pulled the singer closer to him. His head slid into the crook between Murdoc's neck and shoulder blade. The position recalled the way they had fallen asleep inside the Geep. This was definitely better. Already, 2D's neck started to hurt less. He closed his eyes. The smell of stale cigarettes and mulled wine filled his nose. It was not unpleasant.

In that hazy space in between dreaming and waking, 2D sensed something move beneath him, pulling him closer and draping something warm and long over his shivering, curled-up body.

"Murdoc?" His eyes twitched open. Looking down on himself, he saw that Murdoc's cape was wrapped around him. Holding the cape in place was the bassist's wiry arm. It circled over 2D's narrow shoulders and its hand clutched in front of the singer's chest. 2D looked-up. His band mate's face was once again unreadable.

"Shut-up." Murdoc whispered, holding 2D in one arm while holding onto his scythe with the other. "I'll keep watch. Go back to sleep."

Nodding, 2D lowered his head again. When he remained awake regardless of Murdoc's orders, the arm that was possessively hooked around him slithered away and moved to the back of his neck. Murdoc's fingers delved into his hair, rubbing the soft skin hiding beneath. Feeling very much like the pampered cat, 2D's eyelids lowered and his breathing slowed for dreams and rest.

Murdoc gazed at his singer for several minutes before lifting his eyes and focusing on the closest corridor. Even Cortez would take time to recover, but he would not. Determined to let nothing get through those doors, his grip tightened around his scythe and the young man who was sleeping deeply at his side.


End file.
